


Nothing Ever Changes

by The_Female_Gaymer



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Abuse, Adoption, Alcohol, Are they different? Who knows., Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood, Blood and Violence, Branding, Broken Bones, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Accidents, Car Chases, Chemotherapy, Child Abuse, Death, Death Threats, Depression, Destruction, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Execution, Explicit Language, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fire, Fist Fights, Forced Bonding, Foster Care, Gang Violence, Gangs, Government Experimentation, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitalization, Human Experimentation, Illegal Activities, Implied Past Michael/Trevor, Imprisonment, Interrogation, Kidnapping, Love/Hate, Manipulation, Michael gets very defensive about kids, Multiple times, Near Death Experiences, Nicknames, Nudity, Other, Pet Names, Physical Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Reverse Stockholm Syndrome, Scarification, Scars, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Snow, Snowball Fight, Stealing, Stockholm Syndrome, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Threats of Violence, Torture, Trevor loses everything, Underage Drinking, Unethical Experimentation, Verbal Abuse, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 99,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7191908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Female_Gaymer/pseuds/The_Female_Gaymer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year has passed since the trio completed the Union Depository Heist and freed themselves from the oppression of both the FIB and Merryweather. Life seems to be slowing down, much like it had been before they ever came together. Trevor, as a result, can't help but feel frightened-- this is his entire life, and as Michael and Franklin start having talk of finally retiring, his panic reaches a crescendo. What will he do without them? How will he go on?</p><p>The answer comes barreling into his life at 45 miles per hour, in the form of a teenage thief with sapphire blue eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A word of warning before you read:
> 
> Trevor's an asshole. He's psychotic, cannibalistic, abusive, and just downright horrible.
> 
> The abuse is strong in this story. We thought it was funny in the game, at times. It probably won't be funny here. It will probably be very realistic. He chokes. He bruises. He hits. And we have seen what happens when Trevor gets attached to people. It's creepy. It's perverted, even if he doesn't intend it. And even his affection is abusive. It's mostly to fill his own desires. It is not a symbiotic relationship. Ever. He feeds for himself. But he's not an idiot, either. He knows how to lie and manipulate. **What you read here may be triggering.**
> 
> In this story, the child Trevor ends up becoming close to not only develops Stockholm Syndrome, but begrudgingly accepts some of Trevor's more bizarre and questionable affectionate advances. It doesn't get incestuous in nature, but it almost gets there. To some people, this may be the drawing line. I will say though, with a 100% guarantee, their relationship will never be written as incestuous. Still. You have to be very careful reading this story.
> 
> Consider this your only warning. If there is something that may be particularly triggering, I will mention it at the beginning of the chapter.
> 
> If you're still here, then good luck. Please **_politely_** inform me if you see something that I have not tagged properly.

Trevor Philips gave an unsatisfactory huff as he watched the sun set from his rich friend's balcony, scanning the horizon-- or, what little he could see from his current position. ‘ _Not much of a view with all this smog and shit_ ,’ he thought. Still, it was better than the view from his trailer at the other end of Los Santos, at the bottom of a desert valley. There, he couldn't see the rays from the sun as it descended behind the skyscrapers, or the ocean, and how it caused the objects to gleam with an unearthly aura. The sky didn't give a vivid pink hue either; at home, the sky turned dark blue, almost like the bottom of a lake that hadn't been disturbed in centuries.

But then again, Trevor paid no mind to such things. He was a man of action, violence, and no thought. He wanted _everything_ he could get his hands on. And if he didn't have it, he'd go get it, no matter the cost. Hell, he'd stolen a nuke once, but he didn't end up doing anything with it, which pissed him off to no end. Things that would touch a normal person would whiz past him like a Frisbee. Not his problem, not his game. If there was nothing to gain from his efforts, he didn’t even want to try.

He stepped back into the house, rolling his shoulders, and wincing at the popping sounds they made. Michael de Santa, the owner of the house and somewhat Trevor's mentor (though he'd never admit it) , brought up _his_ friend, Franklin Clinton, and some cans of booze.

"Man, dog," Franklin sighed as he pressed down the tab on the beer can, "I'd never thought I'd be a’right to drink beer from a cold-ass lil’ can."

"Well, you get what you can when your friend's a cheapskate," Trevor muttered, eyeing Michael. He folded his arms, not bothering to grab a can for himself.

The man in question scowled at Trevor. "Hey, if you don't like the booze, go buy your own can, you lazy shithead," the millionaire countered. "I don't have to do jack for you. I invite you here because I'm _nice_."

" _'I invite you here 'cuz I'm nice'_ . Mikey, I had no idea you were _nice_ ," Trevor chanted. "I always thought you were a lying, backstabbing fucker who can't see straight out of his retirement cash!"

"Ah, fuck you," Michael grunted, waving Trevor away dismissively.

The other grinned maniacally, chuckling darkly at the suggestion. "Gladly!" he exclaimed, and motioned to undo his belt.

Franklin intervened first. "Awe, come on, you sick fucking asshole, dog, don' pull dat shit! Fuck, has ya done ever heard of sarcasm?"

Trevor chuckled. "Sure have. Just have trouble understanding the difference. Mommy never taught me sarcasm... had to learn from when my dad said, ‘I'll be back,’ then left me in the mall to rot!"

"Now see, that's just a flat out lie", Michael explained. "There's no sarcasm there at all! You _still_ don't get the difference, after forty years of your fuckin’ life?"

He shrugged. "Guess not. Don't really care either, ya know? Because being branded as a psychopath has its advantages. Like, for example, this." He motioned to Michael. "I can be honest, and you'll just accept it, because that's how I am, right?"

He motioned to speak, but was cut off by the doorbell, and the call of Michael's wife. "It’s Lester! Do I let him in?"

"Tell him we’re upstairs!" Michael yelled back. He flopped back on his bed, his can empty enough that it wouldn't spill. Franklin sat next to him, but Trevor remained standing. Soon enough, the crippled techie behind all of the trio's greatest heists came limping into the room, and tumbled backwards into a chair after careful calculation. He tossed a briefcase to Franklin and said:

"There it is, the measly hundred grand from the last heist. I never would have thought to give it to me for safekeeping though: it's not like I'm _immune_ to the LSPD."

"Well, Lesty-loo, we aren't immune either, but _you_ aren't on the radar like we are. When I organized this heist, I wasn’t looking for anything big, I just wanted to get us all together. How 'bout you pull your head out of your ass?" Trevor retorted while scratching his balding head. “Besides, all that money we nabbed from the Union Depository Heist has really made things difficult for us in the way of online transactions. If we have to use you as our scapegoat from now on, I don’t give a fuck.”

"Sure thing, T." The tech man had grown used to Trevor's threats over the years; the trick was to know how to react, unless you wanted your balls chopped off, or worse. "Now that you’ve got your money in hand, I will be on my way. As you’re all aware, social gatherings are not my forte. I’d rather be at home, and, as the kids call it these days, ‘pawning noobs.’ We’ll all talk again when the next heist rolls around."

The three men waved as Lester hobbled out of the room. Michael looked over at Franklin, and gave him a small smile. “Look, as much fun as these little shindigs are, I bet you’re just as excited as I am for the day where we decide we’ve had enough. Just the thought of being satisfied with everything we’ve done-- and that’s a pretty small fucking chance-- is a feeling I can’t wait to embrace.”

All at once, the temperature in the room plummeted. "Whoa, wait... did I hear what I think I heard?" Trevor, who had been staring at himself in Amanda’s mirror, whirled around, snarling.

"Yeah, T, that's exactly what you heard," the millionaire retorted. "Some of us have lives outside of this whole gig we ha-"

"Oh, fuck me, that’s right, a gig!" the other exclaimed. "A gig. That's funny, ya know? 'Cuz _I_ thought this was a way of life! This is my way of life, at least. This? This _gig_ , is an outlet! If I lead a normal life like you two fat fucks, I don't know how long I'd last! Doing the same thing over and over, expecting something to change? Now _that_ , my friends, is pure insanity!"

Franklin stood uneasily. "T, come on man-"

“Come on, huh? Come on where? Come all over you? Huh?!”

Michael joined Franklin. “Trevor, shut the fuck up-”

" _You_ shut the fuck up!" Trevor screamed. He ran to be face to face with them, and they retreated in fear. "Just because you three want something else, something even _remotely normal_ , that don't mean I have something like that too! I run an illegal weapons industry by my poor lonesome! I smoke crack and meth! I beat on people just for fucking fun! _This_ is the only normal I have! And that’s fine, but that’s not the problem! The problem is that neither of you want me to be a part of _your_ normal! You just keep me around, because I'm the guy who isn't afraid to get shit on his hands, and do all the dirty work you can’t stomach! You _use_ me! Well, guess what?! _Fuck you too!_ "

He panted heavily, his tirade over, for the most part. Eyes were popping out of heads, not prepared for what should have been an obvious outburst. Trevor stared at the two of them in a long moment of silence, before licking his lips and retreating to a more comfortable distance.

This was Trevor. Nothing ever changed with Trevor. He had not lived a normal life, and he hated it. He knew it was different, he couldn't deny it, but even though outwardly he embraced it, secretly, he wanted something more... he simply didn't know how to get it. His mind screamed these profanities and these desires left and right, pulling his emotions along like strings around puppet arms, but in the deepest reaches of his mind, Trevor was not happy. He shook his head, muttered an apology, took his twenty-five grand, and left.

 

* * *

 

"Fuck," Trevor growled. He threw his fists down by his sides, raging within like a caged animal. "T, you always gotta be the one to make the outburst, huh? Stupid, stupid fuck..." The stone path of Michael’s driveway clicked beneath his combat boots, and once he reached his truck, beyond the fence, his beloved Bodhi, he reached for his keys. As he was about to unlock the vehicle, he saw a girl that couldn't be more than thirteen run towards him. She was in tears.

"Help!" she cried. "Help! Help!"

His arm swung limply at his side, and he stepped away from his truck. He was astonished someone would come to him for help, much less a little girl. Trevor didn’t exactly have a nurturing aura about him. When she was within range, he knelt down and asked, "What's the deal, kid? You lost or something?" Trevor set his lips in a thin line.

She nodded.

"Well," he continued, glancing around uncomfortably, "Do you live far from here? Where are your folks at? Were you with them?"

The girl chattered on about her predicament, hiccupping sobs disrupting her sentences every now and then. Trevor listened patiently, but paid close attention to the sounds he heard behind him. It’s easy to tell if someone’s just walking on the same sidewalk, and if someone’s trying to sneak up on you-- the steps are slower, and less calculated as they struggle to keep the concrete from crunching beneath their shoes. ‘ _You think you're so sneaky? Think again, bastard_.’

When he felt someone's presence directly behind his back, he turned swiftly and uppercutted them in the jaw. To his shock, the offender was hardly older than the girl he was already talking to, and he reeled backwards. In his distraction, the other girl snatched the briefcase from his hand and turned around, bolting.

"Hey! You-- _fuck_ \-- get back here with my Goddamn money!"

The girl squealed as she rounded the corner, but the sound was abruptly cut off at the sound of a sickening squeal of tires, and a dull thud. Trevor ran to see what had happened, stepping in blood. The kid had been hit by a car, and now lay lifeless in the gutter. From the car, the driver hopped out-- another girl, in her late teens, with a head of long, jet black hair.

Time slowed for Trevor when piercing sapphire eyes shot his way. The corner of her mouth crooked up in a sneer, the scar on her lip warping to fit the curve. Her head held high, her walk practiced and rigid, she practically brushed right past him as she marched. She stopped at the body, looking down without the slightest hint of remorse, and time resumed its accustomed pace. She knelt next to the body, snatched the money herself, and hopped back in the car. She drove off again, leaving the other girls behind.

"W-what the fuck!?” Trevor screamed as he darted back to his own truck. He didn’t bother opening the door-- he jumped inside, and his truck roared to life and entered in hot pursuit.

Traffic was heavy at this time of day, but that didn't slow the female driver or Trevor. He could never get closer, but he was never getting farther, either. For someone so young, he had to admit she had talent for weaving in and out of lanes, narrowly missing cars left and right. Her turns were also unusually graceful, rounding corners like a dog leans to strafe in between trees. It was his best effort to not lose sight of her.

Cars honked loudly at the rude and dangerous interruption to their daily routine. Trevor honked back, yelling occasionally that some people "didn't know how to drive," and that he was going to "put them in their place." He obviously meant this as a euphemism, but what else would he say? "I'm going to kill this fuck?" He could say that, but he's not in the mood to get concerned pedestrians or drivers calling the police to report a homicidal driver.

"C'mere, you fuck!" he hissed to himself. "I earned that fair and square! What did _you_ do?! Leave your friends to die!? How low _are_ you!?"

Trevor continued to chase her through traffic, weaving through lanes and onto sidewalks, doing everything in his power to keep his eyes on this kid that had the nerve to take his hard-earned cash. When faced with the option to attempt a jump or crash, due to an unusually heavy intersection, she took the jump. And crashed. The vehicle caught on a tree stump, and the girl tumbled from the windshield, crying out when her leg was painfully twisted and contorted in ways no leg should be. She settled to a stop near the edge of the grass and the hill, next to where the train tracks were.

Trevor pulled in front of her, exiting his truck and raising his gun. "Give it up, kid!" he called as he continued to stalk towards her. "Give me the money, and I won't make you suffer."

Her sneer was undeniable; as she stumbled to her feet, wincing when she stood on her bad leg, she revealed she had another trick up her sleeve. Literally. She produced a small pistol from the long sleeves of her white undershirt, and quick as lightning, shot in his direction. When he crouched to dodge the bullet, she took her chance and jumped off of the neighboring ledge, just as a train was passing by.

" _Fuck_!" Trevor screamed again. Without a second thought, he jumped onto the train as well, and continued his pursuit. He rolled when he landed, nearly rolling right back over the edge of the fast moving train car, but righted himself before that could happen. The sound of him leaping to his feet banged across the metal, and the girl turned quickly, aware of her danger.

She sneered again, and in a loud, low voice, taunted him. "You don't know when to quit, do you, old man?"

"Neither do you!" Trevor roared.

The two shot simultaneously at each other. Her bullet grazed his hip, while Trevor was a little more accurate, piercing her already broken left leg. She yelped in agony, collapsing to her knees. He made his way towards her, knowing his prize was near, his bloodcurdling stare enough to freeze anyone in their tracks. But whoever this teen was, she wasn’t ready to surrender so quickly, and wasn’t fazed by Trevor’s animalistic glares in the slightest. She shot again. In his surprise and haste to dodge the bullet, Trevor pushed himself backwards, and slipped, almost toppling off of the edge of the train. His gun skittered off of the side in the process.

Trevor cried out, clutching to the side of the metal car with all of his strength. The wind rushed past him in torrents, nearly blowing him off as they entered a tunnel. He truly was stuck between a rock and a hard place-- any poor movement choices would have him hitting the rock wall behind him, surely knocking him off to his death. His fingers ached from the little grip that he had, and he could hear the girl laughing at him from above. Faintly, he heard the kid walk towards him. Though he couldn’t see her, he heard her shout, "You seem to be in a tight situation, old man!"

"Shut the fuck up!" he replied.

The kid only laughed, and the footsteps returned, but were retreating.

When the tunnel finally opened up, he pulled himself up and gazed at the girl as she limped away from him, towards the back of the train.

"Oh, no you don't!" Trevor muttered.

He ran after her, taking no note of the dangerous situation he was putting them both in. His left foot stomped along in her blood, leaving his footprints as he tramped to end this girl who had caused him so much trouble-- and who was still shooting at him, in a last feeble effort of self defense, since she could not run at this point. It was no use; Trevor yanked her up by her shirt and socked her in the face. Blood gushed from her now swollen mouth, but she retaliated with a knee to the gut and a half-hearted headbutt. He dropped her, and she retreated ten feet away.

"Don't think I'm ready to give up so easy, you crusty fuck!" she sneered.

Trevor laughed at her, cracking his knuckles-- the “Fuck” and the “You”, in that order. "You seem to be pretty tired out, kid. Want daddy to put you down for a nappy?"

"Fuck off, old man!"

"No, fuck you!"

Trevor ran to this girl, but she easily sidestepped him and took out his knees. While he was down, she jumped him and focused all of her energy into ruining his already fucked up mug. He didn't stay down long, and when he got back up, shoving her away and off of him, the flame was back in his eyes.

"You aren't very nice! Someone needs to teach you a lesson!" With that statement, he yanked her into his arms and began to strangle her. It wasn't his best effort, due to her unnatural strength and being on a moving train, but it was enough to cut off her air. She struggled with all her might, but she was an equal match to this crazy old fuck who couldn't care less if she lived or died. In desperation, she chomped down on his hand-- hard-- drawing blood, bacteria and whatever else Trevor had in his system. He roared in anger and struck her away, clenching his hand tightly.

The girl darted away again, panting and face contorting in pain. "You're tough," the girl commented. "Tougher than anyone I've ever dealt with. Even for an old creep!"

"I don't know whether to be offended or flattered!" Trevor spat as he held his bleeding hand.

"Flattered, duh!"

"It's hard to be when some little punk is trying to make off with _my_ hard earned money!"

She paced just out of his reach as he glowered at her. The girl pointed a thumb at herself as she spoke. "It's gonna be _my_ hard earned money after this! Hell, I'm not even gonna get it! This isn't for me! If I had a choice, I'd be taking this for myself and fucking off out of here! But I don't have a choice.” She pointed at the briefcase in her hand. “This? This is life or death! Survival of the fittest! So thanks for nothing, you ass, because I’m not getting anything out of this!"

"That’s bullshit!" Trevor cried.

As he screamed at her, a truck pulled up to the train. There were more kids inside of it, motioning to their "friend" on the train. She started running, but Trevor shot a bullet from a spare gun he had on hand in her path, causing her to stop short.

"Don’t you _dare_!" Trevor commanded. "I’ll find you and kill you if you jump off this train!"

"Fuck you!" The girl screamed back. "There's at least a hundred of us, you idiot!"

"I've handled more dicks than that!" In his mind though, he was shocked. _A hundred kids? In the crime business? Where the hell are their parents?!_

"Wave, come on!" one girl cried.

"Stay right _fucking there_ , kid!"

The girl on the train-- “Wave”-- shouted at her friends. "Drive closer!"

"C’mere, you fuck!"

" _Wave_!"

In the panicked confusion and sensory overload, along with some more warning shots from Trevor to prevent her from running towards the car, "Wave" leapt off of the wrong side of the train, into the woods and mountains, becoming lost among the brush to all who watched. The train traveled onwards.

"Fuck, my money!" Trevor moaned.

"Wave's kicked the bucket!" one girl said. "We gotta report to Beverley!"

"What about th-"

"The cash is gone! Fucking bail!" The vehicle veered back off to the right, away from the train. The truck of kids zoomed off, back in the direction of Los Santos.

Trevor jumped from the train himself as it came to a stop at the nearest station. He kicked the dirt and screamed, enraged at the pointless loss.

"My... _fucking_... cash..."

He yanked at his hair, tore his shirt and punched himself until all of his anger and energy had been spent. Then, he pulled out his phone, and made a call.

"Trevor Philips Indu-"

"Ron!"

"Wha- T-trevor! Wh-what's-"

"Shut the fuck up and come and get me, you fucker!" He slammed the end call button in frustration, stomping around and screeching at the sky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific warnings for this chapter

"I-I don't know, Trevor, I-I just don't see how it's possible. A... a _kid?_ " Ron glanced at Trevor out of the corner of his eye when he heard about his ordeal and the disaster he’d just been a part of, hands clutched tight around the driver’s wheel.

"I _swear_ I wasn't on drugs, Ron," Trevor growled. "These kids come out of fucking nowhere, jump me, and take all of my pay from the heist! And that's not the worst part! The worst part is that she left her buddies to die! She couldn't give two fucks! It... gah! It reminds me so much of... of..."

"Michael?" Ron butted in.

"Michael! Yes, _that’s_ it!" He exclaimed. "A treacherous, backstabbing punk who only cares about _her_ own scrawny ass!”

"Uh... her?"

"Yeah, _her!_ ” Trevor clarified. “Because A, I was referring to the kid, and B, Michael is nothing more than the shell of what was once a luscious, dripping _pussy_ now gone stale and dry _because the bitch let himself go_!"

Trevor punched the door in fury, forgetting the sore teeth marks from the teenager's bite. He couldn't see it in the dim light, as the sun had already set, but he had reopened the wound. The moonlight was not enough, and the faint light from streetlamps were passing by too quickly to make a full inspection of the blood trickling down his fingers.

"I'm sorry, Trevor," Ron continued," but I don't see why you still hang out with Michael if you hate him so much. If you don't like him, why don't you just-"

"Pull the plug on him? Nah, I'd never do that, I've known him for too long, Ron. And although there are times I'd _love_ to slit his throat, it's more satisfying to watch him slowly waste away as he sits on his ass all day, yelling at his camera crew and sulking over times past. You see, Ron-- Mikey is a pile of shit, and I'm a fly. He feeds me entertainment, and... well, he's just a pile of shit. Not much you can do about that..."

He waved his watch in Ron's face, causing him to swerve.

"... but _wait_.”

Ron nodded quickly, eyes still set on the road ahead. “Y-yeah, yeah, that makes sense.”

After a while, the truck pulled steadily into the driveway to the side of the trailer. The calm pace Ron set instead of Trevor’s quick, brash movements, created an aura of false security to the area. But once Trevor stepped out, the threatening air returned once again, thick like a fog. Even the stars twinkling above seemed to fade away, running from his dark aura. Trevor walked around the trailer, and Ron followed shortly after, limping slightly from his bad knee, which was steadily growing worse. He sat on the couch on his porch, grunting as he did, while he watched Ron hobble up the stairs. Ron went into the trailer and came back out with a medical kit, which Trevor snatched from him.

"Never a worse day to come home late," Trevor sniffed. "Bad air, bad fight, bad day. There's a fire somewhere.” His dirty brown eyes trailed over the horizon, and he pushed Ron away after spotting the smoke in the distance. “Get in the house, Ron. You can stroke me while I-"

Trevor stopped speaking. He stopped short, looking back out from the porch. Ron looked where he assumed Trevor’s eyes were, but couldn't see anything. He looked back at Trevor, then to the gate. Nothing.

"...Trevor?"

The other didn't reply. Briskly leaving the porch, Trevor jogged to the ditch in front of the house, hopping over his fence, and gazed down with wonder. "Well, fuck me," he muttered. "Ron, c'mere!"

Ron came as quickly as he could, and when he got to Trevor’s side, joining him in his awe. For there, in the ditch, was "Wave," passed out from her loss of blood. Her leg looked awful, from the combination of it being broken and with a bullet in it. It was swollen in comparison to her other leg, despite the baggy cargo pants hiding it. What were the odds of her ending up here, of all places?

"I thought you were dead." Trevor sneered, nudging the unconscious girl with his foot. He knelt down and began to search the neighboring areas for his money, or the briefcase-- whichever came first.

"Uh... wa-wait," Ron stammered. "Th-this was one of the girls!?"

"Their leader, I assume," was the curt reply.

"Why, sh-she's so young! When you said kids, I didn't actually think-"

"Shut up, Ron."

"Yep, sure... okay."

After another ten seconds of silence, Trevor laughed, grinning widely. "Couldn't find a way to make off with it in time, could ya? Serves you right, you... you prick." He pulled the briefcase up from the mud a few feet away, swiping away extra clumps of dirt. He clicked open the flaps, peering inside. From a glance, it appeared that all of the money was still there.

"You got it back!" Ron exclaimed. "I would have thought someone so selfish like her would have gone all out straightaway! The only reason for her not to would be if she was insane, really! That, or she was going to do the smart thing and save the funds for college, or bills, but she’s just a kid, after all. I don’t think she would think that far ahead for herself, and besides..."

Ron continued to ramble, but Trevor stopped listening. He stared down at the near-corpse in the ditch in front of his house, then scoffed and turned away. Although he was happy to have his money back, he could see "Wave" in his peripheral vision, slowly dying. He brushed her aside at first, but she continued to creep into his vision and thoughts. The look of obvious pain was the worst, despite the fact that she wasn’t even conscious. Something knotted in his gut for an inexplicable reason; it was a feeling he hadn't felt in years. He couldn't even remember the name for it, but it was there. And it was horrible. Why now? What is this shit?

"... so, maybe, she was waiting for her friends to-"

"Let's go inside, Ron." Trevor snapped.

Ron stuttered in the middle of his tirade, blinking quickly. "Are you sure? You know, she's still alive, she could-"

"I said let’s fucking go inside!" Trevor roared, stomping the ground.

"Y-yeah, okay, right, of course..."

The conspiracy theorist wasted no time, running to the trailer despite his bad knee, but Trevor took his time. The farther he went away, the more the feeling grew. It was almost painful, and he moaned. "I'm gonna be sick," he murmured. He glanced back at the girl, and was. He placed a hand on the stair railing to support himself, and curled in on himself as he vomited. It took him five minutes to come back to his senses. He felt slightly better after, but not by much. Ron glanced anxiously from the door, concerned for his friend.

Trevor started shaking, as strange memories began to resurface. Things he had stomached for years, bubbling to the surface in a painful, chronological parade. His father abandoning him, his detachment from other children, his mother's scornful stare...

This feeling was the weak man's fight. Trevor could handle this. This was nothing. He was just tired was all. Maybe a little sick. It must have been something he ate, because Trevor Philips did not feel this way. Never ever ever…

In the deepest corners of his mind, he heard his mother’s voice.

_"You never wrote to me... You never visited... I bet you never even found a girl!"_

He cried out, collapsing to his knees. Ron ran from the doorway, crouching down. "Trevor?!"

The Canadian shook and shivered, eventually pushing himself to sit on the balls of his feet. He stared up at the sky, thinking, ‘ _Why, why me?_ ’

"... Fuck."

Before Ron realized what was happening, Trevor nearly flew into the house, the ailing teen moaning in his arms as her leg was jostled around.

"Trevor?!" Ron cried. "What is-"

"Get the medical kit." he said coolly.

"What!?"

"Get the _fucking tools_ you ignorant fuck!"

Ron rushed to and fro, scared and confused, collecting the necessary equipment. Trevor, after removing his shirt as a sort of barrier from the blood, laid the girl on the floor, ripping her jeans on the left side so he could get at her leg.

"Damn, this is fucked," he grumbled. As Trevor took a discarded shirt to wrap around and just above her knee as a makeshift tourniquet, Ron handed him the antiseptic first, knowing this process well. Trevor had learned to take care of himself after a few nasty burns and cuts in Air Force school, and had shown Ron how it was done.

First, he took a clean, wet cloth, poured some of the ointment on it, and gently cleansed her leg. She winced slightly in her sleep, but made no other movement.

"She's lost a lot of fucking blood. Stupid, stupid bitch..."

Once the dried blood was gone, he could clearly see the wound. It wasn't as deep as he had thought, but enough to cause concern. Luckily, he could see the bullet lodged in her bone, and, after a few unsuccessful attempts, removed the foreign object with thick tweezers. Once that was over, he cleaned the wound again while Ron prepared the stitches.

"She crashed her car," Trevor explained quietly. "Broke her leg. Then I got lucky on the train and got in a shot."

"But.. but why... why are we doing _this?_ "

"Because ‘shut up Ron’! That's why!... Fuck, let me figure it out and I'll tell you. Just... fuck, fuck."

He took the needle from Ron and quickly closed the gaping hole. He wrapped gauze tightly around the wound, until the remaining blood stopped seeping through. Insistent fingers pressed along swollen skin, trying to find where exactly the break was. Once he found the bump, he jostled her leg around, to which she cried out, but didn’t move, until he figured it was close enough. Ron double checked the placement for him, having set many a broken bone within Trevor’s body, and confirmed that it was nearly perfect, or in other words, about as close as they could get it with their limited medical knowledge. Trevor then set her broken leg with a broken hockey stick he had lying around, wrapping the two together tightly, and with more thick gauze.

"Help me carry her to the bed." he commanded.

" _Your_ bed?"

Trevor gave Ron an incredulous look. "... Do you see any other fucking beds in this house?!"

"No, no! I just-"

"Then come on!"

The two men gently carried her across the trailer, careful not to upset her wounds, and set her on the hard mattress. Ron nabbed an abandoned pillow from a corner, placing it under her bad leg to elevate the wound in her shin. Quietly, the two left the room. Trevor switched off the light, and shut the door, locking it. He’d have to switch the handle around so the unlocking mechanism was on the other side of the door, but for now, that could wait. Trevor ran a hand through his hair, obviously conflicted. Ron gently laid his hand on his shoulder.

"...Trevor?"

Trevor brushed him away, pounding pointlessly at the air. "What am I doing, Ron? What am I fucking _doing_ !? Why am I helping this little prick!? Why?! _Why_?!"

"I-I don't know, I was just in here, wa-waiting for you, and then you came in wi-with-"

"Rhetorical, Ron.” he snarled. “That wasn't meant to be answered... don’t answer me when I don’t want you to answer me!"

"Y-yes, of course!... My apologies."

Trevor paced for a second, before grabbing the key to his room, unlocking the door and peering inside. Ron joined him. They both gazed at their victim again, unsure of what to say or do. She was just... _there_ . Her black hair cascading down her pale face. Blue eyes fluttering occasionally, accenting the blood from her lips. _There_. And what to do with her? What would happen when she woke up? How could they let her go now that she new where they lived?

‘ _The fuck were you thinking, T?_ ’ Trevor berated himself, finally realizing the strong emotion that had overcome him.

Guilt. It was guilt. After all, she was only a child-- what kind of monster would leave a child for dead?

 

* * *

 

"T, what's up?"

Michael’s voice came through as static at first, melding into clarity as he spoke. Trevor paced the length of his trailer, stopping at the kitchen counter once Michael answered. He placed his free hand on the counter, trying not to scratch at his side where “Wave’s” bullet had grazed him.

"Mikey,” he blurted out excitedly, “I got jumped by a bunch of kids- _literally_ kids- they stole my cash, then I found it again on a girl I got in a tussle with, and then I felt bad- _me_ ! Of all people to feel bad!- and I patched her up and now she's unconscious in _my_ bed!"

There was a second of silence on the other end. "... Uh, come again?"

Trevor didn’t waste a second. "I mean, I don't know what to _do!_ I've never had to really interact with kids before- 'cept for yours, I guess- but that doesn't matter! What does matter, is that I think something very sketchy is behind all this fucking nonsense!"

"Whoa there, Trevor! Slow down!"

" _Kids? Stealing from grown men!?_ It don't make sense, I'm telling you--"

Michael shushed him roughly.

"T, you gotta lay off the weed, man-- I think you’re relapsing into those bad trips you used to--"

"Fuck weed!” Trevor pounded his counter in fury. “This is real, serious fucking shit! You know what-- fine, Michael! Don’t take me seriously! Your loss when the girl scouts start fucking your wife, too!"

He hung up, furiously pounding his counter, and took another swig of his whisky he’d opened that morning, now room temperature. Ron had gone back home for the night, and the sun was starting to rise. He should have gone to bed, but Trevor was still fuming over his decision.

‘ _Why'd you do it? Why? Why!? Are you fucking retarded!?_ ’

He smashed the bottle on the wall and yelled. Clenching and unclenching his hands, Trevor hissed through his teeth. He was angry at himself for letting his confusion get the best of him. More than that, he was angry for having thought of the idea of letting the kid stay in his trailer in the first place. What kind of moron does that? ‘ _Well, this kid just stole from me. Better patch them up and give them a place to stay. Idiot._ ’ He shook his head, turning towards his pack of beer to grab another bottle. He needed another drink.

A sound from behind him distracted Trevor from his thoughts. He turned quickly, and saw Wave, hunched due to her bad leg and with an intent to kill in her eyes. She also had a small pistol. Where she’d gotten that, he had no clue-- it didn’t look like any of his weapons. It must have been one Trevor didn’t feel on her person when he was carrying her around.

"... who are you?" she asked lowly, her voice surprisingly deep for someone her age and gender.

Now, Trevor's first thought, of course, was to pull out his own gun and start a shouting match. But, rather than react foolishly, and since the nearest gun was back hidden behind his pack of beer, Trevor raised his hands above his head as sign of no malicious intent. "My name's Trevor, sweetheart."

Wave was taken off guard by his calmness, but shook it off quickly. "Where are we?"

"Can't tell you that."

"Why the hell not?"

"Don't want you calling your buddies now, do we?"

"What buddies?" the girl asked innocently.

"Your buddies that you left behind as dead meat," he ground out.

She took a step forward, obviously offended by the remark, and winced when she stepped on her bad leg. When she remembered that she was patched up, confusion filled her eyes, before realization, and she snapped at him, eyes wide and wild.

"You did this, you fuck!" Wave shouted, referencing the fight they’d had the day before.

"I know that," he said, taking a single step backwards towards his beer, and ultimately, his pistol. "That's the first of many things I would like to apologize for." His voice was level and quiet for once. "I'm also sorry I called you a prick in your sleep and ruined your jeans."

She looked down again, not having noticed that the first few times.

"What the _fuck_ did you do to me?!" she exclaimed, raising her pistol higher.

"I didn't do shit to you, kid," he began. He took another small step back. "All I did was patch you up, like any normal human being would. I wouldn't stoop so low as to let a kid die... unlike _you_." The last word was growled out, long and loud.

"Rachel got in the way," she countered. "There was nothing I could do! Hell, time and time again, we've told her to watch for cars, but the dumb bitch wouldn't li-"

"Do _not_ call her a bitch!" Trevor yelled. " _Never_!"

Wave cringed at the volume in his voice. She wasn't used to hearing a male voice; that low, simmering burn. It was grating on her ears.

"She was just a kid!" Trevor continued. He took a larger step back. Just a little farther… "I may be a pretty heartless fucker, but _no_ kid deserves a fate like _that_!"

"There are worse things for us than being hit by a car!" she cried indignantly.

"Oh yeah, like _what_?!" Trevor snapped.

Wave raised her gun, trembling.

Trevor reached for his own gun, finally within range. His index finger curled around the trigger.

She fired blindly, saying nothing, screaming silently, revenge driving her actions. Trevor dove behind his counter, narrowly avoiding the shower of bullets. Immediately, there were shouts next door, calling for Trevor. Said man lunged for the kid, but she burst out the front door before he could even touch her. Her limping could be heard as Trevor hopped over his kitchen counter.

"Ron!" Trevor barked. "Wade! Don’t let her get away! After her _now_!"

He himself bolted out of the door, just in time to see Wave knock an unsuspecting man off of his fourwheeler and speed off with the new prize. Trevor shot after her, but she was too quick. Wade and Ron waddled from the neighboring trailer, gawking at the sight.

"The fuck are you waiting for?!” Trevor barked at the two of them, running down his porch steps. “Get in the fucking truck and don’t lose her!"

Meanwhile, Wave punched the gas pedal as hard as her sore muscles would allow, gaining a comfortable distance from the crazy old man. The uneven terrain wasn't doing her any favors either, jostling her to and fro. It hurt her leg badly, but she grit her teeth and soldiered through it.

The sociopath wasn't far behind, and he was gaining every second. He had two other bizarre men with him, both looking slightly nervous. ‘ _Time for some evasive maneuvers_ ,’ she thought.

First, she tried to throw them off by making random turns throughout the neighborhood. It put the distance back between them, but she couldn't shake them. Plan B was to make a U turn right in front of them. It would be an obvious move, but it could give her enough time to hide.

"Trevor, why are we chashing that little girl?" Wade asked, his speech impediment causing him to sound like he had a mouthful of food. "What'd she do to you? Doesh she have shomething of yoursh?"

"Wade," Ron replied, "it'd be best if you didn't ask. I don't think Trevor likes to talk about it."

"Damn right I don't! This little idiot is more trouble than she's worth!"

Suddenly, Wave braked as hard as she could, turning into a powerslide and speeding past and behind the truck of men.

"Fuck me," Trevor moaned, yanking the wheel hard and threatening to send his vehicle tumbling. Ron and Wade cried out, each one nearly toppling out of the truck themselves.

"Shoot out her tires!" he commanded once they’d settled themselves again. "If she's as good as a driver I think she is, she won't wreck, and we'll be able to catch her."

"Sure thing, Trevor!" Ron exclaimed

"Uh, I wash told not to play wish gunsh," Wade explained.

Trevor turned around to look at Wade, wild fire blazing in his eyes. "We aren't playing; this is the real deal!"

Wave turned onto the road that went around the circumference of the Alamo Sea, pushing the fourwheeler to its limit. ‘ _I won't let them catch me. Never. I'll die before then. Chances are I will anyways._ ’ A sick feeling rose in her gut at the thought, but she pushed it down quickly. Now was not the time to be thinking about that. That sociopath was gaining again, and she didn't have a plan C. At least, not a good one. Especially not with the condition of her leg.

Then again, she was running out of options.

"Easy, Trevor! I can't get a good aim!" Ron pleaded with him.

"I ain’t about to lose this kid, and then have her army showing up at my fucking door! Don't shoot her though! Just the tires!"

"Why!?" he asked.

"Because I haven't had a chance to interrogate her yet and see what her deal is! If there are more kids like her, we need to find them and get them where they belong: in the hands of a good family!"

Wade looked at Trevor and smiled. "Gee, Trevor! I didn't know you liked kidsh that mush!"

"I don't. I fucking _hate_ kids!” Trevor turned at a particularly harsh corner, cutting off conversation until they were stable again. “But, what I hate more than that is a child in the wrong hands!"

As soon as he had finished speaking, Wave made a random turn and began driving off-road, bumping up and down, but never slowing.

"Is she fucking crazy?!" Trevor turned after her, shaking his head in disbelief.

She gritted her teeth at the burning pain in her leg and gut from the constant assault. ‘ _Well, that didn't work. He followed me anyways. Fuck. Well, there goes all of my strategies._ ’ Running was steadily becoming pointless and inconvenient in comparison to the possible death that awaited her.

To her right was a thick pack of trees, like a small wood. And now, to her left, was that balding creep and his buddies. A look of horror crossed her face as the one with the sunhat raised a sniper rifle, glasses glinting in the morning sun.

‘ _He really does want to kill me!_ ’

In a fit of fear and self defense, she turned sharply into the truck, denting the side and frightening everyone in it. She pulled away just before the one with the dreadlocks had a chance to grab at her. Unfortunately, this put her right in the path of a sharp cactus. Her right wheel ran right over it, popping and shredding the rubber and causing her to drive straight into the trees.

"Hahahaha!" Trevor shrieked. "We've got her now, boys!"

When he said this, he was certain she would go head first into the trees. What he forgot though, in the short amount of time that he’d been chasing her, was that Wave was an excellent driver, and she neatly maneuvered around the obstacles. It wasn't long before she vanished among the wood, the sound of the vehicle growing faint.

While Wave _was_ good, she didn't have lightning reflexes. It took her only a minute to topple the fourwheeler, nearly crushing herself in the process, but she jumped away from the toppling vehicle, tumbling herself, before both she and the fourwheeler came to a halt. Though she tried, due to her leg, she didn't have the strength to tip it back over. Wave cursed, and began to limp away as quick as she could, panting and whimpering.

‘ _Fuck, fuck, fuck. He's going to get you, Wave. That crazy fuck's going to get you. Run, damnit, run!_ ’

She tripped and tumbled, leaves clinging to her hair and shirt. Stopping occasionally to readjust her bandages, she could faintly hear the truck driving away. She slowed her frantic pace, glancing over her shoulder until the sound was out of range.

‘ _Hah... lost the bastards. Thank God._ ’

At last, she could slow her pace to a relaxed walk, but she didn't want to take any chances when she made it back to the road. She walked for maybe fifteen minutes through the thicket of trees, cautious and silent. Just before she left the wooded area, she looked right. Then left. Right again. Then, cautiously, she reentered the sunlight.

The road _seemed_ dead..., at least, there weren't any hillbilly red trucks around. She took another step, now concealed behind a thick bush. Yes. He was definitely gone. She laughed to herself. ‘ _I really am the best criminal there is. A fucked up leg, and still they didn't catch me. Score one for me, zero for... uh... his name was... Trevor. Score zero for Trevor._ ’ She laughed again, and walked onto the road.

The next events seemed to unfold in slow motion. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a flash of red. Then, the truck flew from nowhere, circling donuts around her and trapping her. Trevor hopped out as Ron took the wheel, sneering and staring daggers. He held no weapon as he stomped towards her.

"Do you know how much gas costs today you little prick?" he barked.

"Fuck you, Trevor!" she shrieked. Wave yanked her gun from her pocket, but Trevor was too quick this time. He pulled out a little weapon of his own: a rag with chloroform on it. He slapped the gun out of her hand and smothered her with the rag, one arm tight around her arms, pinning them to her sides, while the rag was stuffed forcibly in her nostrils. When he was sure he had given her enough, he pushed her to the ground, laughing as she feebly tried to crawl away.

"You chose the wrong fucker to mess with, Wave."

Wave struggled to keep her eyes open. A ways away, she spotted her pistol. She reached for her gun, but the weight on her eyelids became too much. She closed them, head collapsing on the concrete, and lost consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific chapter warnings

The only sound in the bedroom that evening was the steady breathing of the unconscious teenager. As for Trevor, he sat at the edge of the bed, waiting for her to wake up. Wade could be heard faintly humming in the next room, along with the sound of dishes and silverware. Trevor assigned him to dishes duty when there was too much to be done. This wasn't normal. Not that Wade never hummed, or did Trevor’s dishes, but that Trevor was actually  _ waiting _ . Everyone knew that Trevor didn't wait. He did. He does things. No waiting required.

But something about Wave have caught his attention, and forced him to slow down for once. She was  _ weird.  _ She was violent, snide and completely heartless. She cared about no one but herself. She was rash. She was loud, and brash.

She was the Devil.

That's what he saw in her the night she lay near death in his ditch. That's what caused his guilt to come to light. She was a personification for him to see. An example to himself. A mirror reflection of his own violent tendencies. If Trevor believed in a god, this would be a sign from them.

He hated it. He hated Wave, but he couldn't bring himself to get rid of her. Why? After all the trouble she caused, why? Maybe it was because she wasn't the worst thing to ever happen to him. Maybe it was that he harbored something deep in the blackest corner of his heart for this teen that reminded him so much of himself, despite all the trouble she’d caused him. Despite everything, it was still him. It was still his own irrational thought that forced his hand in this position.

Or maybe he just wanted to kill her later, when she was at her most vulnerable phase. He had the sort of attachment to her as a human to a dog. In other words, he pitied her. She was so much like him, it was impossible  _ not _ to somewhat understand her position. He knew how she felt, to a certain extent..

She stirred slightly. The motion angered him, and he made sure she knew.

"Wake the fuck up!" He snarled out. He slugged her in her good leg, still eliciting a moan from her, even as she continued to sleep.

"Wake up! I've been thinking while you were out, and I hate it! Get the fuck up so I don’t have to fucking think!"

Wave groaned again, obviously not remembering her current situation. But, when she did open her eyes, she shot up, thrashing out at everything. She was handcuffed to the bed, one hand to each end of the headboard, where they were secured by layers and layers of duct tape.

"Let me go, you creepy fuck!" she yelled.

"No!" 

He punched her again, and she spat in his eye. He could have wailed on her relentlessly at that point if he wanted to, but at the current moment, it didn’t seem fair to him. They couldn't go more than a few seconds without trying to kill each other, the mere sight of the other person enough to stir the fire in their hearts. That's when he finally realized that they were at a stalemate; neither one could get the upper hand. Trevor leaned back, the thought soothing him.

‘ _ Neither of us win... better than her winning, I guess. _ ’

Wave wasn't so convinced. She tugged relentlessly at her chains, causing blisters and sores to form. She spat profanities at him, trying to get a rise out of him. Trevor only sat back, as calmly as he could, reflecting her insults with his own quiet thoughts, none spoken aloud. Soon, she realized neither one was earning her a reaction, so she relaxed, and huffed.

Trevor raised a scarred eyebrow. "... You done yet?"

Wave stuck out her tongue.

"Good.” Trevor smirked, standing up. “I guess we can get to the interrogating now, then."

"I won't answer a fucking thing you have to ask me."

"We'll see," Trevor chuckled. From under the bed, he produced a taser, courtesy of some of his crazier friends from the Civil Border Patrol, no longer in service. At the sight of this, Wave’s eyes shot open wide and she broke down, screaming bloody murder and backing away as far as the handcuffs and headboard would allow.

"No! Not that! The electrici-- the  _ burn- _ \- fucking Jesus Christ, anything but that-- Trevor!--"

"Calm the  _ fuck  _ down!" He threw the weapon across the room, out of his reach. Wave calmed down immediately, but with her chest still heaving. "The fuck was that?!"

"I'll answer anything, I swear, just don't use those things on me! Please--"

"Kid, I get it! Fuck..." He took a second to let the both of them calm down, then scooted closer to her, ignoring her obvious discomfort. There was another brief second of awkward silence before he spoke. "Alright kid. What's your name?"

"... Waverly." she told him quietly, refusing to make eye contact as she did so.

"Your  _ full _ name,” he clarified.

She glared at him with daggers in her blue eyes. "Waverly. I'm an orphan."

"No parents? Don't remember your last name?"

She shrugs. "Never knew them. Don't have a last name as far as I know. Don’t care."

"Well,” Trevor tried, growing frustrated quickly, “what's the first thing you remember?"

"Los Santos beach. It was a rainy day, about three years ago. I had a gun pointed to my head."

He raises both eyebrows at that. "By who?"

"Beverley Danes."

"Never heard of her."

"She's my boss."

"Your  _ boss? _ " Trevor stares Waverly down.

She only nods in confirmation. "Leader of the Urban Tigers."

"Hmm. Doesn't ring a bell." He’d never heard of that gang before.

Waverly shrugged. "She doesn't like to be known."

"Then why are you disclosing ‘company’ secrets?"

"You threatened to taze me." she pointed out.

"Who says I won't?"

At that threat, Wave panicked again, this time, with rage. "I will  _ not be shocked _ !"

Trevor grew defensive, standing up to better shout down at her. "What’s your fucking deal with tasers?!"

"It  _ hurts _ , you fucker!"

Trevor raised his hand as if to strike her. "Stop calling me that!"

"Fuck. fuck, fuck!  _ Motherfucker _ !"

"AAAARRGH!" Instead of hitting Wave like he so desperately wanted to, his hand sailed through the wall next to him, his knuckles popping as they came into contact with wood. He roared at her angrily as he paced at the foot of the bed.

"Stupid fuck, do you have any idea who I am and what I do?!"

"I couldn't give two fucks!"

"Ooh, you better start giving some, because I am about to rip your tits off and use them to jerk off!"

"Go ahead!” Wave spat, grinning. “I don't have a use for them anyways!"

Bewildered that none of his threats were having any effect on her, he yanked on his hair and screamed. Waverly laughed, and from the adjacent room, Wade started humming louder to try to block out the conflict. Trevor poked his head out of the room and shouted at Wade to shut up.

It took five minutes for everyone to calm down, and when they did, Trevor kicked the wall, and left the room. Waverly screamed.

“Fuck you, Trevor! Get me the fuck out of here, you mother fucker! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

She continued to yank on her handcuffs for the rest of the day, until her wrists were blistered and bleeding, almost down to the bone. Her screaming could be heard throughout the neighborhood, long into the night, which Trevor ignored to the best of his ability.

The second time Trevor tried to talk to her went a little more smoothly. He found out more about the Urban Tigers, three days after the first time he’d tried to speak with Wave.

"Everything we find or steal of value goes to Beverley. She uses it to fuel her drug addiction, and pay for her house and insurance. We can't stand up to her. She has a corrupt section of the FIB watching her, in exchange for some of her goods. Kids who have tried disappear within a week. We can't go to our parents either, because any of us who actually want a way out don't  _ have _ parents."

"None of you have parents?" Trevor looked at Waverly skeptically.

"Those of us who stay.” she clarified. “Some kids come and go for the thrill, and if a kid does really good, Beverley will pay them to come back. Those kids have homes to go to. We envy them so much... we've killed a few for fun."

Trevor looked around the room, his eyes screaming, ‘ _ Can you believe this shit? _ ’ to no one there. "Those are some major abandonment issues you have there. It's not fair to their parents though. I’m sure they love their ‘precious little angels’."

"What's one less kid to the world?"

Trevor glared at Wave like she’d grown another head after he’d chopped the first one off. "What's one less kid to the world!?"

"That's what Bev says when some kids ask about their parents-"

"Where'd she find you kids?"

"A lot of us she finds as lost, confused kids. Really young, around four or five, then she trains our brains to forget our families. Sometimes, she sees a kid she likes, and takes them, no questions asked. If the parents complain, she has them put down by our snipers, if she wants the kids bad enough."

Trevor leaned back, disbelieving what he’s hearing. "Fuck..."

Suddenly, she lunged at him, despite her still bound, still cut wrists. "It doesn't matter, does it?"

Trevor gazed at her, appalled. "Of course it fucking matters!"

"It must not. Because nothing ever changes, Trevor. Because police will take a look into it for a little while, maybe two years, if the parents are lucky. Then, poof. Nothing. No one cares. It's not just here, either. It happens all over the world. Because if the law gets their tight panties in a bunch over every single death, every single missing person, nothing will get done. The death of one family member is a minor casualty to the billions of idiots in the world."

Trevor was silent.

"Isn't that how it works, Trevor?"

"Unfortunately." He knew there was truth to her words, but he didn’t want to believe it.

Wave fell back down, staring up at the ceiling. "If it matters so much to you, why do you kill, huh? What makes you so special?"

Trevor shrugged. "Nothing. I kill with moderation is all. Well, these days, at least."

"Killing with moderation is still killing, you hypocrite."

"Not only that,” he continued, ignoring her, “but I have good reason! It's an act of self defense! I'm just having a friendly little chat--"

"I don't think you know the definition of ‘friendly’."

"Why don't you just call the police on her?" he asks suddenly.

She grows angry, sitting up to glower at him again. "Stop changing the subject! What--"

"Hey, fuck you!  _ I’m _ the one doing the interrogating here!"

"Well, to answer your question, the police can't do shit if she has all the bail money she'll ever need! Now tell me what  _ you _ think ‘friendly’ means!"

“Fuck you! You don’t get to ask any questions!”

The conversation went downhill from there, ending with a harsh slap to Wave's face and a kick to Trevor's family jewels.

The third time Trevor interrogated Wave wasn't until a week later. He’d been giving her all her necessities to survive-- food, water, but just the basics. He had talked to her previously in the week, but hadn't really asked her about the Urban Tigers. Today was different. This time, he had Michael with him too.

The movie buff’s car pulled carefully into Trevor’s dirt driveway, trying his hardest to keep his car clean and scratch-free. Trevor rolled his eyes, leaping down the porch steps to meet his best friend.

“About fucking time, did you sleep in, you fat fuck?” Trevor barked once Michael stepped out of his car.

“Uh huh, whatever, Trevor,” Michael said dismissively. He waved Trevor away, following him into the house. “Where’s the kid?”

“In my room, door locked, tied to my bed.”

Michael stared at him. “Okay, what the fuck, Trevor. It’s one thing to lock her away, but why tie her to your bed? Jesus Christ, how old’s the kid, seventeen? Twenty? I gotta draw the fuckin’ line somewhere with you. Why not just lock her in there?"

Trevor snorted. "Tried that. It only took her about eight minutes to pick the lock."

Michael’s eyes widened. “Eight minutes? You fucking kidding me? That’s… actually pretty fucking impressive.” He stopped at the door, Trevor inside, and he scratched the stubble on his chin. "Well... I'm still not totally sure about this T..."

"You can ask her! She'll tell you everything I told you, and more if you're not careful."

"What the fuck’s  _ that  _ supposed to mean?"

Trevor rolled his eyes, and pointed at his room. "Just get in the fucking room, Mikey."

"Yeah, whatever."

Michael stepped a single foot into Trevor’s room, then when he didn’t catch any suspicious smells, proceeded to enter the whole way. As soon as he laid his eyes on Wave, Michael sized her up, and she did the same to him. Some sort of mutual understanding passed between the two that Trevor didn't realize straightaway. Neither of them wanted to be there. He knew it, and she knew it. The fact caused the both of them to relax. Michael sat at the edge of the bed, and she did her best to sit up.

"Waverly?"

"And you are?"

He looked back at Trevor in the doorway before proceeding. "Michael. I'm a friend-- well, I know Trevor. I have for a while. I'm not going to lie to you; he asked me to come and talk to you."

Wave scoffed at that. "He must think you have a way with kids."

"I don't. I do have two brats of my own, though," he admitted.

Wave raised an eyebrow. "’Brats,’ Michael?"

"Well, yeah. All they do is sit on their asses all day, staring at whatever screen they can get their fucking hands on while shit-talking literally every other fucking human being on this God-forsaken earth.”

"What, and don’t you try to fix this?"

"Of course not. I have my own stuff to do, and they have theirs!"

The girl frowned at him. "Then who are you to complain? You have no one to blame but yourself."

His mouth moved in protest, but no sound came out. She sat up, blue orbs staring into his green ones.

"Michael, you say your children are brats, but who's fault is that, then? You seem like a rich guy, from the clothes you're wearing... I mean, who the fuck wears a suit as casual day wear, especially when coming out here to Trevor’s trash pile? Anyways, so, who's the fuck who spoiled them? Who gave them those screens? And why in the name of fuck are you even complaining? There are families here in Los Santos who work day and night, and can afford only enough to pay bills and put bread on the table, you ass. They want to get their kids the latest gadgets and gizmos, but they can't afford it."

She reached out to him as far as the handcuffs would allow, an unmistakable anger boiling inside her as she thrashed. Michael held up his hands in defense.

"Not only that, but there are families who wish they still  _ had  _ their kids. An average of five children go missing every day, and at least one of them end up in our ragtag gang each month. What do you think those parents think? How often do you imagine they wish for one more day with their little baby? One last day to say, 'I love you'? Do they wish they had treated them better? Huh? Given them more love? Regardless of how their own children felt towards them?! Much like your 'brats'?!"

She seethed and spat viciously towards the end of her rant. Michael watched on with confused, even slightly terrified eyes. It wasn’t that what she was saying wasn’t getting through-- it was the way she was speaking. It seemed so similar to Trevor.

Michael stared at Wave. When he said nothing, she leaned back, satisfied with Michael's thoughtful expression.

"There will come a day where you wish your little brats were still  _ around  _ to ignore you."

Michael was silent for a while, just nodding absentmindedly to her words. At length, he replied, "And I assume you wish for the same thing with your parents?"

She looked away from him, slouching back. "I don’t give a fuck about my fucking parents. I’m trying to forget they exist, if they’re still alive. I don’t want to know. But, 'frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.'"

His eyes lit up with fervor at her words. "Hey... That's  _ Gone in the Breeze _ !"

"1932." she stated.

"Yeah!"

Trevor snorted in disgust. "Oh, come on, not this shit-"

Michael interrupted him, only focused on Waverly. "Do you know this one? 'Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

" _ Casablanca _ !"

He cackled in excitement. "Exactly! You watch old movies?!"

"... well... I read." Wave explained carefully, seemingly at war with herself whether to open up to Michael or not. “It's one of the few luxuries we have. Books... instructional... documentary... novelizations... I do watch movies when I can. I've seen two."

"Oh yeah? What two?"

" _ The Simian  _ and  _ Loss in Downtown Liberty." _

“I was the producer for  _ Loss _ ."

Waverly's eyes lit up. "So you're Michael De Santa!"

"Yeah!"

Trevor grabbed Michael by his shoulder. "Oh, yeah, it's so  _ fucking  _ fantastic! Listen Mikey, you're supposed to be interrogating  _ her _ , not the other way around!"

"Geez, Trevor,” he barked defensively, “calm down. Alright, I've had my fun. So have you." He pointed to Wave. "Let's get down to business."

She slumped back, defeated.

"You,” he began, “seem pretty smart for someone of your background. From what Trevor’s told me he’s learned of you, you haven’t had it easy. Been with the Urban Tigers for as long as you can remember, and that clearly equates to very little schooling. Where'd you learn everything?"

"I taught myself. It’s been literary, mostly. I didn't pay much attention to math or history. I like literature and the arts."

Michael chuckled. He gave Trevor a strange look out of the corner of his eye, smirking, before turning back to her. "I'm guessing that's what got you to the top of your class, right?"

"I'm one of Beverley's best,” she boasted. “Of course, that doesn't mean she won't kill me." Her expression fell. "Anyone who she thinks has blabbed or gone AWOL gets... an agonizing death... I should be dead."

Michael and Trevor looked at each other. Michael, full of sadness and horror, Trevor impassive. Trevor threw up his arms, not sure what Michael wanted him to say or do.

"Kid... Waverly,” Michael said, “give me a sec, would you?"

"Do I have a choice?" Her voice sounded bleak.

At first, he looked like he didn’t want to leave, eyeing her bonds like he could sear them away with only his eyes. But, after a time, Michael stood up from the bed, and motioned for Trevor to go with him outside the trailer. The Canadian complied, allowing Michael to take the lead. Once Michael felt they were a fair enough distance away, he turned briskly back to Trevor, jamming his fingers into his chest.

"You  _ can't _ send her back," he commanded.

"Are you fucking kidding me!? I don't want her!” Trevor growled, shoving Michael. “But at the same time, I don't want to kill her! She hasn’t done enough to deserve  _ that _ ."

"Oh, yeah,” Michael exclaimed sarcastically, “the only person that you hate and don't want to kill! That's a first!"

"Fuck you, Michael, you thumb sized cock!"

"For fuck’s sake, T! Will you  _ listen _ to me all the way through for once?!"

The two men paced outside the trailer, each one agitated for their own reasons. Michael motioned wildly as he spoke. "Trevor, she doesn't deserve to go back to that hellhole!"

"Oh, and she deserves to fucking stay with me?! If you’re so fucking concerned, why don’t you just fucking send her to Child Services or whatever the fuck they call themselves these days under the illusion of--"

“She’s on police radar right now! Of course we can’t fucking send her to Child Services! On top of that, that fucking bitch Beverley probably thinks she’s still alive. If a girl with black hair and blue eyes gets turned in, clearly, she’s going to be all over that! She can’t be at my place, because that’s one of the last places she was seen. She  _ has  _ to stay with you for now. It's better than what she has!"

"Oh, don't you  _ dare _ play dumb! You know she can't fucking stand me!"

Michael screamed at Trevor, "Because you aren’t giving her a  _ fucking chance  _ to prove herself!"

“ _ Prove  _ herself!?” Trevor forced a laugh. “What am I gonna fucking let her do, Michael, huh? Blow up my fucking lab!? Walk all over my business!?”

“I don’t know!” Michael shouted. “I don’t know. I’d say threaten her-- if she doesn’t listen to what you want of her, then kill her, I guess, I don’t fucking know. I’d rather you didn’t, but I’m not your fucking parent, I can’t force you to do shit. But letting her sit alone in your fucking bedroom isn’t giving her a chance to change her ways.”

“Oh, man, you and your fucking father-figure complex,” the Canadian snickered bitterly. “Everybody’s got good in ‘em, eh? You thinking that way because of your own snake-like demeanor, right? You’re fucking precious, you fat tub of shit.”

“I’m serious,” Michael emphasised. “Franklin came to my house stealing my son’s car, and look where we ended up when I gave him a chance. Come on, Trevor. Trust me on this, and just this, if nothing else.”

Another period of silence as Trevor processed that last statement, and the truth behind those words. Trevor growled, pacing for a moment, before whirling around and disappearing back into the trailer. Five minutes or so passed. When he came back out again, he was followed by Wave, rubbing at her wrists and squinting in the harsh sunlight. The sociopath stared straightforward, ignoring her poisonous stares as he rejoined his old friend. Michael stepped slowly up to her, and when he knelt down, took her by her shoulders. She tensed.

"Wave," he began slowly, “I don't want you to go back there. No kid should have to. Now listen, I’ve convinced Trevor to let you stay with him for a little bit, not as a prisoner, but as a… person in indentured service-- Beverley is probably out looking for you, along with the LSPD. When things cool down and they forget about all that shit you caused back there, we’ll figure out some different living arrangements for you. Let us take care of you, and you'll never have to worry about Beverley again."

"Don't make a promise you can't keep." Her words came out quick-- practised, like she’d had to say all this before.

"I  _ will _ keep it. And  _ Trevor will too _ ." He glared at the man in question in warning.

The other snorted, switching from one foot to the other. "I guess I owe you, anyways.” He seemed less than thrilled at having to go along with this. “As long as she  _ behaves _ and does as I say without question, she can stay. I’ll offer her protection and all that shit."

"You can't guarantee that." Wave spat up at him.

"Hey," Michael warned, gaze snapping back to the girl, "you've seen how violent Trevor can be. I'd listen to him if I were you."

Wave bore into Michael with dark blue eyes. "I can handle myself."

Michael sighed, arms swinging by his sides. “We’ll see ‘bout that,” he muttered, then he stood up, and went towards his car. When he got in, he looked back at the two criminals. The thought from earlier that had crossed him reformed, stronger than before, as he looked at them side by side. So similar. So different. ‘ _ Maybe this wasn't such a good idea… _ ’ he mused to himself. At the last moment, as his car was pulling away, he honked, rolled down his window, and shouted, "'Here's looking at you, kid!'"

Trevor rolled his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Physical abuse and attempted rape/non con in this chapter (attempted on Trevor, not Wave).

“Come on, boys, these weapons crates ain’t gonna load themselves!”

Trevor clapped his hands quickly while chasing Ron and Wade, urging them to hurry their task of loading the cargo helicopter with weapons crates for his clients south of the border. The two of them panted in the desert heat-- even though winter was around the corner, Los Santos was never known for having noticeably cool winters, especially around the Sandy Shores area. If it were to ever snow in the area, the locals would probably lose their minds.

Trevor was used to the weather, barely breaking a sweat-- of course, he wasn’t actually doing any work, so that helped. He eyed the person who  _ was  _ doing his work for him.

Wave struggled behind Ron and Wade, her entire frame shaking under the weight of the box in her arms. Still, she kept a quick pace, doing her best to keep close to the other two. In all honesty, Trevor was surprised she could lift that much by herself-- despite her small figure, it was clear that she was stronger than she looked. He himself would have had to fight with gravity to move that box, and in all honesty, probably would have called out for help by now. It’d been a week and a half since she’d been allotted partial freedom, and she was already doing everything in her power to keep on Trevor’s good side. Of course, that probably had something to do with the fact that he threatened her with death and a loaded gun every time she tried to refuse.

He leaned against the side of his truck, arms folded and smirking.

“Oh, Waverly, come on now! I expected better of you. For shame.”

“Fuck off,” she grunted, swaying from side to side under the weight of it.

“Don’t you fucking say that to me!” he snapped, irritable. He waved her off after he’d calmed down. “Now shoo, shoo, do your work, you dirty girl.”

She wanted, so badly, to just drop everything and bolt. Trevor could see it in her eyes. Instead, she shifted the box in her arms, glowering, before rejoining Ron and Wade in the loading process.

“There ya go,” Trevor called, nodding his approval. He himself trotted over to the last box, hoisting it in his own arms and taking it to the chopper himself. “Alright, alright, I think that is all there is, eh?” He looked around, and Ron and Wade did the same. “Yep, that looks like the last of it. Alrighty, Ron, Fucktard, in the chopper.” Wave glared at him at the nickname, but somehow managed to keep quiet about it. “Wade, go home, or something.”

Wade looked around timidly. “Um, t-th-that’s a bit of a waysh to walk, Trevor.”

“Then hitch a fucking ride, I don’t care what you do! Just get the fuck out of here. Go. Now! You’re making me sick looking at you.”

Wade sagged as he walked away, clearly not looking forward to the walk home.

As Trevor ducked into the pilot’s seat, Ron and Wave clambered into the back of the chopper, with the weapons and their crates. As they strapped themselves in, Ron and Wave turned to look at each other. The helicopter blades whirred to life, deafening and high-pitched, and Ron looked away, but he offered his hand towards her slowly and cautiously.

“Ron Jakowski.” he yelled over the growing noise.

Wave just stared him down, until he lowered his hand.

“You might want to look about fixing that attitude of yours,” he shouted as he reached for two pairs of headsets. He handed one to her, and as he did, she grasped his wrist, yanking him down to her level. Ron shouted in surprise, dropping the headset, and she leaned in and hissed in his ear:

“You might want to look about fixing that attitude of  _ yours _ , fuckwit.” Wave twisted his wrist, nearly breaking it, to which he shouted out louder. “I’ll fucking put a bullet through that flapping jaw of yours, huh? You want that, Jakowski?!”

“T-T-Trevor! Help!”

At the front of the vehicle, Trevor growled, aiming back and shooting near Wave, causing her to jump and let go of Ron’s hand.

“Behave, you kids!” he barked, lifting the helicopter into the air. “Don’t make daddy come back there and kick your asses!”

“Oooh, fuck, I’m really fucking scared now,” the teen girl shouted back, finally placing the headset over her ears. “Daddy’s mad now, ooohh! Oooohh!”

“Don’t you--” Trevor inhaled sharply. “-- don’t you  _ fucking test me! _ Michael stood up for your snake ass-- one snake to another. Jesus, I should have realized it sooner!”

Wave shrugged wildly, hands shooting up into the air. “Once a snake, always a fucking snake, right? Aren’t you smarter than that?”

“I guess fucking not,” he shot right back.

“Right, because you’re one of those ‘everyone deserves a second chance’ assholes, just like him. You’re just too pussy to admit it.”

“You misunderstand me!” His grip tightened on the cyclic stick, knuckles turning white. “Michael de Santa and I have history, and I owe him for not killing me when he had a clear chance of doing so. This has got nothing to do with ‘second chances’. This is a favor from me to him, looking out for your sorry ass, alright? I don’t want you around, just as much as you don’t want to be around. You understand that, you insufferable mutt?”

There was an amused choking sound over the headset. “Oh, so I’m a mutt now, huh? What other completely unfounded insults are you going to cook up in that meth head of yours?”

“If you value using that stupid tongue of yours,” he drawled out, “I would stop talking. Right now.”

“You come anywhere fucking near me, and I’m ripping off your ear.”

“Big words for a little girl.”

“This little girl kicked your ass, didn’t she?” Wave tossed a pebble that had gotten in the chopper his direction, though she missed be a long shot.

“You got shot, wrecked your car, and I can see those bruises on your neck, you prick.” Trevor pointed back at her. “If anyone got the shit kicked out of them, it is you, my friend. I got out with a bullet grazing my hip-- you actually got shot.”

Wave shut her mouth after that, gaze shooting down to her bandaged leg and scowling.

They flew mostly in silence for a few minutes more, until they reached the drop-off point. Unlike the usual drop-off procedure, to a boat in the ocean, there were a group of his clients waiting at the northernmost part of Paleto Bay, wanting to deliver payment personally. Trevor landed the helicopter a ways away from them, kicking up sand and rocks, until the propellers slowed enough for anyone to approach safely.

The three of them exited the chopper at the same time as the back opened, revealing the weapon crates. One of the clients snapped his fingers, and three others went to collect the weapons.

“Trevor, Trevor, Trevor,” he began, smiling greedily at the crates, but his smile fell when he beheld Waverly. He pointed at her. “Who’s this?”

“What? Oh, she’s an… intern. Basically.” was all the description Trevor would give.

The man approached her, searching her figure for any imperfections he could point out, and he found it. “Not exactly the prettiest rose from the bush, but hey, free labor is free labor, am I right?” He laughed, right up until Wave stepped up to him with fire burning in her eyes.

“Say something else about my face,” she snarled, lip twitching. “Go ahead, fucker.”

The client took a step back, and Trevor yanked her away from him roughly.

“I apologize for that,” he said, before shoving her to the ground with a hand around her throat. She choked on her breath, fisting the sand between her fingers. “She’s still learning her manners.” He then kicked her in the back, sending her into yet another choking fit.

The client stared, uncertain how to react to the abuse, but ended up just shaking his head. “Of course, of course. Anyways, the weapons are appreciated as always. Here’s your payment.” He dug around in his jacket pocket before yanking out a couple wads of Bens. He forked them over to Trevor, who tossed the money to Ron, and the man returned to the chopper while Trevor stayed behind to discuss further deals with his clientele south of the border. All in the meantime, Wave writhed in the sand, glaring up at her captor.

She struggled to her feet, shaking a bit from the pain in her back-- that was very clearly going to bruise. All she wanted to do was wrap her fingers around Trevor’s neck, catch him off guard and kill him with anything she could, but she knew better. Besides, he never gave her the opportunity-- anything in that shithole trailer of his was under lock and key, including herself once night rolled around. Trevor locked her in his bedroom and left her nothing to use as a weapon, or even pick the lock. And during the day, he had his eyes on her at all times, like a hawk.

There was that issue, and then on top of that, she knew deep down that running in itself if she could kill Trevor would be suicide. The LSPD would be all over her ass as soon as she set foot back in Los Santos, and her greeting from Beverley might not be too kind either.

She was trapped, and she was livid.

“... we’ll make sure to do that sometime, yeah?” Trevor chuckled lightly as his client nodded, heading towards the vehicles waiting for him, now loaded to the brim with weapons and other toys of war. “Oh, and if you find dismembered fingers in any of the boxes, don’t sweat it-- the rest of the body’s already been taken care of. Have a  _ lovely  _ day, gentlemen.”

He turned away from them, and glared at Wave. He brushed past her.

“Usually, people your size are still writhing on the ground in agony.”

“Fuck you, Trevor.” She rubbed at her abused throat tenderly as he marched past.

“Nah, I’d rather you didn’t.”

She joined him by his side-- she’d walked behind him before, and paid the price for it due to his distrust. Now she always made certain she was within eyesight.

“Really? Of all things to be against, you’re afraid of fucking a minor? You just ate some poor sucker’s remains for dinner last night-- I have no doubt you murdered his ass.”

“ _ Her  _ ass, actually,” he clarified without pause. “That was a woman.”

She shrugged, straightening the sleeves of her long undershirt. “You’re of another breed, Trevor.”

He stopped, whirling around right in front of her, grinning like a cheshire cat. “And don’t you fucking forget that, sweetheart. You might actually live long enough to see the end of your little stay in Trevor Philips county if you treat me like the animal everyone else seems to see me as.”

Wave scoffed, stopping at the back of the carrier with her hand on the door. “An animal? You’re more like a, uh, like a, a mythical creature. You’re revered as dangerous, people are advised to stay the fuck away from you, they have a hard time believing in you, and those that live to tell about you are usually shunned for being just as insane as the ideas they propose.”

At this, Trevor only laughed, clambering into the pilot seat. Wave rolled her eyes, and took her seat next to Ron yet again for the journey back.

“There you go, you’re finally learning. You may be lucky enough to tell the world about the endangered species of fucked up that I am.”

“You really are, Trevor.”

 

* * *

 

 

The return to the Sandy Shores airstrip was, for the most part, a quiet one, save for some snapped words back and forth between Wave and Trevor. Ron sat in silence, afraid of setting either of them off and being double teamed by two psychos instead of one.

Once the helicopter set down, the sun was already behind the distant mountains, casting the valley in shadow. Ron scrambled out of the chopper, making certain not to keep Trevor waiting. Wave marched out behind him, eyes towards the setting sun as she stood in the chopper door. Trevor pushed past her, shoving her, and she glared his direction. He just looked back with a shit-eating grin.

“Ron,” he said, and the older man stood to attention. “Go ahead and head back to the trailers. The kid and I will wrap up here, get the chopper stored and whatnot.”

“Right, Trevor.” he said, and he hobbled to his car, bad knee aching in the cooling night.

Once Ron was out of earshot, Trevor motioned for Waverly to follow him. She did so with a slight groan and more rolling of her eyes. As they walked side by side to open the hangar doors (a new addition thanks to TPI money), he stared her down curiously.

“Question,” he grunted to her.

“Answer,” she shot right back.

Trevor growled under his breath. “Oh yeah, you’re real fucking funny. Listen, what’s your deal?”

“Care to clarify?”

“You’re… strong.” He seemed ashamed to admit it. “You lift boxes effortlessly that most others your age and size can’t even with an adrenaline rush. So what’s your deal? More Beverley shit? Been with her so long, you’re all scar tissue and muscle under that pasty skin of yours?”

Wave only shrugged, and grabbed one side of the hangar doors, yanking, and Trevor did the same with his side. She called out to him as they separated.

“It’s always been like that. As long as I can remember. Even when I was younger-- twelve-ish, thirteen? It’s always been like that-- kids always challenging me to arm-wrestling competitions, getting obliterated. Lifting the most weights effortlessly. I’ve never had to really  _ work  _ for it, either. It just happened. I don’t know why. Trust me, I think it’s fucking ridiculous too. But I don’t think I’m ever going to figure it out.”

Trevor’s door was already opened, and he let his arms dangle back to his sides as he walked over to Wave, who was almost done herself.

“No training? No hard lifting? Nothing? Are you the president, too?”

“I’m not fucking with you!” she exclaimed, giving an especially hard yank on the door, until it clicked into its open position. “I may be against you, but I’m not fucking lying to you, Philips! I’m not now, and I haven’t before, so either take what I’m giving you, or I just won’t talk to you anymore. How’s that sound?!”

He didn’t like her tone of voice. He surged forward like a tidal wave, grabbing her by her throat and pinning her against the cool metal door. The height difference caused him to drag her up until she was eye level, feet kicking uselessly against metal and shins as she choked.

“Do you fucking forget who you’re speaking to?!” Trevor looked her up and down, teeth grinding. “I ought to tear out your throat, right here, right now!”

“Why don’t you?” she rasped, gasping for air she couldn’t get. “Do it. You’ll be saving me a lot of shit in the future. So fucking do it, you cunt. Rip me open, see what you find.”

Screams and roars rumbled around in his chest, never being released as he clenched and unclenched his hands. He was reminded of a time in the past, where Michael had said something similar. ‘ _ Rip it open! See what's there, I'm ready baby! _ ’ At the time he’d said that, he’d been a broken man, with next to nothing to lose. Now, with a young girl’s throat in his hands, Trevor found himself facing someone in a similar, if not more drastic, predicament. Even as her eyes watered, deep blues dared him to make a move, any move.

Trevor yanked his hands away, hissing and spitting like a viper. Wave managed barely not to crumple, propped against the door as she sucked in the dusty desert air through chapped, scarred lips like a fresh forest breeze.

“I should have left you to fucking die in that pit I found you in.”

She wheezed desperately. “But you didn’t.”

His heavy steps thudded back to the chopper, a length of cable in his hands, and he hooked it under the front of the nose. “Get your worthless ass in the hangar and start cranking-- we gotta drag this thing inside. I have to steer the damn thing.”

She complied without another word.

When Trevor told her to get in the back of his truck for the ride home, she struggled-- her leg brace was bulky, and prevented her from getting enough momentum to propel herself into the truck bed. He watched her flounder around for a few minutes with amusement as he closed the hangar doors, then walked over. With little ceremony, he wrapped his hands around her waist, and lifted her inside like she weighed almost nothing, though she screamed at him indignantly at being picked up like that. He just smirked, closing the driver door behind him and starting the vehicle.

They couldn’t make conversation as he drove-- with her position and his, coupled with the howling wind, there was no way they’d be able to hear each other even if they wanted to. The drive should have been only a few minutes, but something off the side of one side of the road caught Trevor’s eye. It was a parked truck, still running, with the lights blaring off into the distance. He decided to inspect the unusual occurrence, pulling the truck on to the dirt road. Wave, who’d been on her back staring at the stars, paid the detour no mind-- more excuse to stare at the sky before she was locked up in that jail cell of a bedroom. So long as she didn’t leave the truck, Trevor wouldn’t beat her.

As the truck skidded to a stop, Trevor yanked the stick into park, and stepped out carefully, eyes focused on the truck. His hand rested on his pistol at his side, ready to draw if necessary. Those first few steps were slow and tentative, and when no one jumped out at him, he relaxed.

There was a sudden sharp pain in his side, and then, jolts of electricity shot through him. He didn’t even have time to cry out, dropping to the ground like a sack of rocks. This was different from any taser he’d ever experienced in the past, far more powerful. It hurt, badly, and his vision blurred. When he dropped, he hit his head on a rock, and his vision split in two. The last thing he heard was a male voice pleasantly singing, “Well, aren’t you a pretty one..?”

From the back of the truck, Wave shot up.

 

* * *

 

 

The room spun. It was cool, and quiet, the only sound being static from what he assumed was a radio or T.V. He groaned-- Trevor felt like he’d been hit by a four ton truck going thirty over the speed limit. His side radiated in waves of pain-- where the taser had pierced his skin. He rolled on his back. The surroundings smelled... familiar. Stale piss and sweat. Home.

He sat up as quickly as he could, eyes shooting open. He’d been incapacitated. Someone had tased him, left him lying in the dirt off the road. Only now, he was in his trailer, fan whirring and Impotent Rage on the T.V. He tried to piece together how he’d gotten from point A to point B, but came up short.

Trevor felt eyes on him at the other end of the couch. Slowly, he turned his head. Wave was sitting rigidly still, body and head facing straight in front of her, but her eyes were trained on him in her peripheral.

He swung his legs over the edge of the couch, sitting next to her. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a minute or so.

“Does that happen often?” she suddenly blurted.

He mumbled his reply, feeling numb and weak as he rubbed the unconscious blur out of his eyes. “Does  _ what _ happen often?”

“Oh, you know, people tricking your clearly gullible ass into situations where you’re trapped and forced into things you don’t want to do? That sick fuck was yanking down his pants before I realized what was going on and jumped in to save the fucking damsel in distress.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Trevor looked over at Wave before spotting the blood on her green tee and white undershirt, along with all the other stains she’d accumulated in her week and a half stay in his trailer. On top of that, her knuckles were red and bruised. His pistol sat on the counter, in its holster, unloaded. His eyes narrowed as he faced her slowly again. “What did you do?”

“What I had to do to protect myself.” She stared at the T.V, convinced he was going to be alright. “If you’re out for the count, then what the fuck else am I supposed to do? When he was done with you, he was probably going to come for me.”

The pieces finally started to click into place, but not all of them. So he’d been knocked out, and Wave got to Trevor’s gun and shot at the asshole. She’d dragged him back in the truck, driven them home, got him inside somehow, and unloaded the gun-- probably to get rid of temptation to shoot Trevor herself. Trevor motioned to her fists. 

“And what the fuck is that from?” The fists were what didn’t make sense to him. “You shot him, I can gather that much, but what the fuck is this now?”

Waverly tore her gaze away from the T.V, a confused expression on her face.

“I didn’t shoot him.”

There it was. The final piece. With that much blood, there was no way he was still alive. She’d beaten Trevor’s assailant to death. She’d pounded into him until her fists were bloody and bruised. She probably hadn’t been able to get at the gun because Trevor was laying on it, and with how persistent this guy would have been, she probably wouldn’t have had time to flip him over to get at the weapon. So, she took action differently. Physically.

He looked away from her, sighing through his nostrils. Then, uncertainly, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, and wriggled him off. Nevertheless, he spoke what he’d been thinking.

“Pretty brave, kid. Thanks.”

Trevor stood up, cracking his back, and sauntered over to the bathroom. He fished out the first aid kit, and whistled to the girl on the couch. She only gave him a side glance like a dog would when it knew it was in trouble.

“C’mere. I’ll patch you up.”

“I can do it myself,” she argued quietly.

The Canadian rolled his eyes, tossing the kit onto the kitchen counter. “Suit yourself.” He returned to the bathroom, yanking his shirt over his head to inspect the damage. Two bruises where the barbs from the taser had punctured his side were well under way in their formation, a sickly yellow and purple against his skin. He dropped the shirt on the ground as he found some numbing cream-- yeah, he wasn’t a pussy, but he didn’t want to be reminded about what had almost happened to him--  _ again _ \-- when he went to sleep that night.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Wave was scrubbing her hands vigorously at the kitchen sink, gritting her teeth when she passed over her bruises. She glanced up when something cool and hard hit the side of her head. It was Trevor, offering her a beer.

She looked him up and down, eyes narrowing. “Beer? I’m sixteen, you dumbass.”

“I started drinking when I was fourteen. Grow up.” He set the glass next to her, and walked away. “Rude fuck, can’t even say ‘thank you’ when you’re offered something by your host? No wonder your parents tossed you away.”

“Don’t fucking talk about my parents, alright?” she spat vehemently. “You don’t know shit about them, I don’t know shit about them, so let’s not bring them into my fucking attitude, alright? I thought I fucking told you this! Don’t fucking talk about my parents!”

“Whatever,” he chuckled, popping open the cap to his own beverage as he landed backwards onto the couch. “I think I’ve seen your true colors now-- you don’t scare me anymore, Mr. Boogeyman.”

She slapped off the tap, pointing a wet finger Trevor’s direction.

“The only reason I stopped that asshole from raping your stupid fucking ass is because I didn’t want to witness the sniveling, pathetic mess you would have become otherwise because of a sore ass. I could have let him had his way with you and then saved you, but I didn’t, so show a little more fucking respect, why don’t you?”

Trevor glared her way as she continued to rant, and she began to pace wildly, limping due to the leg brace.

“Jesus, I could have even killed you, taken your truck and gotten the hell out of this fucking state! I could have gone to Liberty City, or Vice City, or Carcer, fuck, I could have even gone to the fucking Salt Flats! But I wasn’t smart enough to think about that at the time, so why don’t you shut your fucking mouth before I sew it shut with this kit in your sleep?!”

She expected an outburst. She expected to be tossed to the floor and to have her head stomped in, but she didn’t care. She had to defend her pride as a force to be reckoned with, and if Trevor wasn’t going to listen to threats, maybe he’d listen to logic.

“You’re right.” Trevor held up his hands in defeat, voice quiet and low. “You’re right. Forgive me, I wasn’t thinking about it. You did me a favor. You’re right. I’m sorry, kid.”

That, she hadn’t been expecting. She shook her head, muttering a “whatever,” and returned to bandaging her hands. When she was finished, she eyed the beer on the counter, before snatching it and rejoining Trevor on the couch. She effortlessly flicked off the cap, and after a long, thoughtful swig, she pointed at the television.

“So who’s this Impotent Rage guy?”

Trevor looked at her and beamed.

The next morning, the police radio Trevor had detailed the corpse-- a man around mid fifties, with several bruises on his torso and jaw, but his head had been completely obliterated by ‘a currently unknown force.’ In the distant future, when Lester would show him the pictures, he’d see the smashed brains and the fragments of bone scattered around, but would not, with all his willpower, be able to imagine that that bloody pulp had once been human.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific chapter warnings

It seems as though Trevor wasn't the only one dissatisfied with the Los Santos sunsets. Wave's expression was frighteningly similar when faced with the deep blue hues of the darkening sky. Not even the large, full moon seemed to faze her. Instead of stopping and staring, she threw pebbles at passing cars, merely laughing when they honked at her, and flipped them off.

Trevor had grown to trust that Wave really felt that her only chance at survival was with him, so he had extended her boundaries to the front yard and the ditch just beyond the gate, but she was not allowed the road, or the world beyond it. She took advantage of this every opportunity she could, basking in the sunlight, or sitting out under the stars by herself. Whenever Trevor tried to join her during the day, she would grow defensive, and occasionally even violent-- scuffles erupting, which Trevor always won. But when night rolled around, she seemed strangely at peace, and would even scoot over to make room for him wherever she was sitting.

One night, when they were doing this, she turned to him and asked him why he would sit by her. Trevor replied that he grew bored in the house, and found himself not wanting to go anywhere, so he assumed the next best thing between being in the house and out doing something would be sitting in his front yard, even if it was in silence with someone he absolutely loathed.

She only scoffed and turned away from him. Being hated and unloved was familiar to her now. She didn’t wish for anything more from anyone, and Trevor was no different.

One night, he brought out something she wasn’t even aware he owned-- an acoustic guitar. She stared at him the whole way, until he sat off to her right side, positioning the instrument under his right arm.

“Haven’t played this in years,” he confessed to her. “Let’s see now…”

After a few mistakes, he managed to strum out a bit of Beck’s  _ Lost Cause _ , before giving up and returning the guitar into the house. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t demolish the instrument in his frustration. Still, he continued to bring it out, every night for the rest of that month, until he became proficient in guitar again. If music was rumored to soothe the savage beast, then Wave and Trevor were both animals.

Even if they got along at night, that didn’t mean they were friends. Trevor’s abuse towards the teen continued during the day-- a wrong word, a misstep from either of them, and Wave usually ended up on the ground broken and bruised, though she typically hopped back up as if it was nothing. Sometimes, if she was lucky, Trevor would end up on the ground instead, and that would be the end of it. And every night, they would reconcile with each other for their abuse.

And that brought them to tonight.

Trevor emerged from the trailer, snickering at her as she continued to pelt passing cars and people with stones. At this point, he merely tolerated her, rather than ignored her, when they weren’t working or sitting together. It wasn't that bad, to be honest. They had a lot in common, whether they liked it or not.

"Hey, asshole!" he shouted. She whirled around, some of the stones tumbling out of her arms. "I’m taking you to the Yellow Jack Inn for some grub. I don't feel like cooking tonight."

Waverly smiled in relief. She wasn’t sure she could stomach another night of barely cooked, unidentifiable meat. "Sure thing, Trevor." She scurried into the back of the truck, hoisting herself up effortlessly on her nearly healed leg. She still cringed a little when too much pressure was put on it, but it was a fleeting pain rather than a rolling wave. Trevor himself scooted into the driver's seat, turning the ignition and slowly pulling out of the lot. Once they were well under way, Wave started up conversation with him.

"Remind me why I can't sit up front again?" Wave questioned him, resting her arms on the passenger headrest.

"Because I don't like you."

"I don't like you either. Doesn't that cancel each other out?"

"Nope. Doesn't work like that, kid."

"It's been two months, Trevor. I have a name besides ‘kid’, you know."

"I hate your name. It's not harsh enough on the consonants. Rolls off the tongue too easily. You barely have to move your mouth to get it out. Now, if your name was, say, Tony, or maybe even Samantha,  _ that _ , that, I could stomach. But as it is, it sounds almost slothful."

"You’re full of it, Trevor. It's not like I had a choice on what my name was."

"Well, personally,” he confessed, “I'd pay for you to have it changed just so I could actually feel like saying it’s worthwhile, but I'm not your legal guardian, so I have to put up with the shit that your rogue parents chose for you."

"Fuck you, Trevor!"

"Nope. Nuh uh."

She grumbled at him, clutching on to the headrest on a particularly bad bump in the dusty road. “Stop taking it literally, you fucking sicko. For you to actually think I mean it when I say that says a lot more about you and your conscience than it does about mine.”

“News flash, sweetheart,” he called back, “I’ve always been fucked up.”

“Clearly,” she spat right back. “The first day I was in your shithouse, I couldn’t count on the fingers on both my hands how many things were wrong with your life; there’s so much you’ve got to answer for. There’s the cannibalism, then there’s the alcoholism, the speed, the corpses, I’m pretty sure there’s a dead rat rotting in your shower drain, and I don’t want to imagine what your couch looks like under a blacklight--”

“Ababababababah, shut up, shut up, I get it.” Trevor turned just enough to peer at her over the rims of his sun glasses with a furrowed brow. “You’re no better, hanging out with fucking thieves hiding in a basement all day.”

“I’ve  _ told  _ you, I don’t have a choice. With Beverly and the Urban Tigers, it’s do or die-- there is no happy medium. You do what she wants, or she kills you off, because once you’re a member, you’re a liability. If somebody runs off and tells, she’s got a mess to clean up, officers to bribe, parents to keep quiet. If it even  _ looks  _ like you’re thinking of bailing, that’s it, you’re on her kill list. She knows that one day, if she’s not careful, the bribes aren’t going to work anymore.”

“If that’s so,” he hummed at her, “then what does that make you?”

Waverly huffed, sitting back on her heels.

“Hopefully, a dead kid. Being gone this long, it doesn’t matter how useful you are or had been to her-- she’s coming for you. Well, coming for me, at this point, if she thinks I’m still alive.”

The truck bounced into the parking lot of the bar, suspension squeaking as he drove over the curb at an odd angle. After parking the vehicle, the two of them meandered inside, barely managing to squeeze past a couple drunkenly eating each other’s faces as they stumbled out into the night.

Janet, the bartender, looked up from the glass she was currently pouring, and frowned.

"You're banned, Trevor."

"Yeah, shut up."

The Yellow Jack Inn was as dead as it had ever been, with the same white trash scum that always came in and out at leisure. No one even questioned if Wave was old enough to be there, not even Janet. On top of that, she didn’t even question who Wave was and what a young girl like her was doing with a demon like Trevor. The truth of it was, she could easily pass for 21 if she wanted to, especially with her scraggly appearance and height.

Trevor looked down at her, then back up as he searched for a seat. "Get whatever you want, I don't give a damn. Try to keep it under fifteen bucks."

"No promises, but I’ll try. The great American economy makes budgeting difficult."

The two sat down in a booth farthest from the rest of the restaurant, browsing the menu casually. With her eyes narrowed, Wave scoured the list of food, seemingly growing more disgusted with each item she beheld, until she settled on something.

"What do you think of the Chicken Tortilla?"

"What do I think?" Trevor scoffed. "I think that it isn't chicken. The one thing that I know any health agency would ‘okay’ in this shit hole would be the chili and the hamburgers. Oh, and the alcohol, of course. That's probably the one thing keeping this pride and joy of American establishments from shutting down."

She sighed at that, tossing her menu down. "I'll get a burger then."

As the two ordered, a small figure from a nearby table glanced up, frowning. Their hat covered their face well, drawing away recognition. The person leaned in, focusing on Waverly. When they had seen all they needed to see, they stood up, and left. Neither of them noticed. There was a silence between them, before Trevor spoke up again, coughing awkwardly.

"So," Trevor began, "Was this your idea of going out with a family for dinner, or..."

"What? No, this is like... uh, like a school cafeteria. And I’m stuck eating with the school assigned officer for bad behavior."

Trevor ignored the blatant comparison to the officer, instead focusing on the comment about the school cafeteria."You've seen one?"

"Once. It was dark and dirty.” She smiled a bit as she recollected the experience. “Went to knock off one of the rebelling kids, and the only place we could catch them was at their school. Pretty much a shithole, all dank and rotting. Funny, how those two traits seem to coincide in my life."

Trevor took a swig of his drink, nodding. "You and me both, kid. You get used to it though, am I right?”

“Guess so.”

Music thrummed faintly in the background,  _ Don’t Come Close  _ serenading the two criminals as they sat across from each other in tense understanding. She looked anywhere in the room she could, except for him. He, however, did just the opposite, eyes never leaving her face.

He set down his bottle slowly. “You’re an interesting kid, Waverly.”

At the sound of her name, her gaze turned back to his face. “Interesting?”

“Yeah,” Trevor nodded, smirking a bit. “I absolutely hate you and everything you stand for, but you’re still interesting. You’re like, a wide spectrum of fuck ups. I think back to that day a few weeks back when that drug deal went south and we had to hold our own, right? And I can’t stop thinking about how good you were with that pistol.”

Her eyes sparkled at the compliment, the scarred right side of her mouth quirking into a smile of her own.

“You’re a trained killer, kid. But then we get into your supposed ‘hobbies,’ and I get lost. I mean, where the hell does ballet fit into all of it? How the fuck is stargazing even remotely related with fucking up poor chumps that want a piece of you? I’m just, you baffle me, kid.”

Wave grew cold, the sparkle dying out in her eyes as she leaned forward, rumbling threateningly.

“Says the mama’s boy. I’ve heard you mumble it in your sleep, don’t play dumb.”

Trevor’s eyes widened, and he leaned back, cringing. Wave continued, a little less on the offensive side.

“That’s one thing, but then there’s the whole Impotent Rage thing--”

"Hey!" Trevor complained, eager for the subject change away from his mother, "Impotent Rage is the best thing to have ever happened in the history of animation and character development. He speaks to me on a spiritual level!"

Waverly rolled her eyes. "There you go. Ballet’s influence on me in a nutshell. It’s more useful than you might think-- you have to be flexible and have good stamina to handle some of the more difficult maneuvers, and speed is an important thing as well. People like different things, Trevor. They don’t have to necessarily link back to their M.O."

"Don't talk to me like I'm an animal," he pointed out. "I'm selfish, not stupid."

"Ballet is an outlet for me. It keeps me from going berserk, like I've seen you do a few times," she continued without listening to him. “If I don’t get my down time, I snap at everything and anything that irks me in the slightest. I’ve snapped friend’s necks in fits of frustration and boredom. It’s a necessary energy outlet.”

He listened carefully, realizing that, even if she wasn’t going to school and was living the thug life, she was still plenty intelligent for someone her age. Janet delivered their burgers to the two of them, walking away without a word.

“And let me guess,” Trevor said around a mouthful of food, “now is the moment where you use your ballet energy outlet or whatever to jump on my ass about not having a good way of handling my anger, correct?”

“I’m in no place to give you a fucking therapy session, Trevor. Especially not me.” She sipped at her soda. “If your job is your outlet, then fuck, I’m not gonna get in your way. That’s your deal, but killing isn’t everything to me. It used to be, but even that got boring after a while. It’s satisfying, but not the end-all-be-all for me. I had to find other things to do to pass my time, or I was going to go absolutely batshit. Me? I only kill if I’m being threatened, or if I’ve been ordered to do it, or I’m going desperately bored. Now, my go-to for entertainment is the few books we’ve got scattered around wherever we’re currently holed up for the month, or finding a new song to choreograph a dance to.”

“Alright then. I’m pleasantly surprised-- you’re less like Michael than I thought you would be. I thought you were going to be like, ‘No, this thing that I’ve been doing my whole life, isn’t what I want to do for the rest of my life, I want to make art and not have to pick up a gun ever again, blah blah blah,’ that sort of bullshit. You’re kind of like me-- you want this to be a part of your reality. You  _ want _ to be a cold-blooded killer if you can help it.”

“I do,” Wave confirmed.

Trevor grinned at her and laughed around his bottle.

“So nice to have someone with similar interests for once.”

 

* * *

 

 

The smell of coffee lingered longer than he would have liked, but there wasn't anything that could be done about it. At least it was cool outside, so he could open the windows and let the wind waft out the unwanted odor. ‘ _Nice morning, I guess_.’ Trevor commented to himself. It was rare to have a day start off like this: calm. It was a rare... normal moment. Yes, that's what it was. Normal. No sounds of gunshots, no burning smell of meth cooking, no reminders of a shameful night spent with a hooker around him. The trailer, for the time being, was clear of any indicators of the sin he regularly indulged himself in.

Trevor liked it.

It'd be another hour before Waverly woke up. She was never an early bird, but she was never a night owl, either. She slept twelve hours and lived twelve hours, almost down to the minute. Since she wasn't threatening to run anytime soon, he had kicked her out of his bed and onto the couch. She didn't complain. "Better than where I used to sleep," she had said. ‘ _ Well, good for you _ ,’ was Trevor's first thought. But as time drew on and he conversated with her more, he thought about what it'd be like to not have a bed every night to crawl into. Sure, his parents weren't nice, but he always had a bed to go to for comfort. And masturbation. It was definitely much easier for him after Ryan died. ‘ _ Wait, no _ ,’ he chastised himself. ‘ _ Don’t think about Ryan. _ ’

He took another sip of his coffee, lost in thought. So lost, that when the first shot was fired, he just thought it was the rickety old trailer acting up to the cold weather of fall, almost winter. 

The second shot got his attention, and he sprang into action.

"Jesus fuck!" He dropped his mug, and dove over the counter for his gun, waking Wave. She sat up instantly, searching around for her green tee to throw over her white shirt.

"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed.

"We're being fucking ambushed!" Trevor snapped.

Waverly joined him without another word, searching wildly for a weapon of her own. She held out her hand to Trevor and made grabbing motions. “Give me a fucking gun, Philips!”

"No! We need to assess the situation, see how bad things are," Trevor exclaimed. "Stay here! I'll call you if things get sticky."

"Trevor! Wait!"

He didn't wait to see what she had to say. He rounded the counter to the door, and chucked a grenade from a belt he had under the sink. It wasn't the explosion that surprised him, but rather the screams of horror and agony that followed. They were children's screams.

Trevor blinked, then whipped his head around, fury in his eyes.”Waverly! What the fuck!?”

"I didn't call them!” she protested, shouting over the gunfire. Her eyes were wide, and she looked more pissed than frightened. “I didn't even think they'd ever find me here!"

"Why are they trying to kill  _ me _ though?!” Trevor shot around the corner without looking, and there was a scream. “What the fuck did I do?!"

"Oh, hmm, gee, I don’t know, maybe you kidnapped one of their own and held her captive?! Look, I’m in no way complaining, it’s nice here, but the fact is they know you're harboring me! They want us both dead!"

Trevor chortled, diving back behind the kitchen counter. "No fucking way, I'll kill them first!"

Wave scooted closer to him, trying to find the best cover, and maybe get at that pistol at his hip. "Trevor, listen, maybe I can talk to them--"

"Fuck that!” his reply was instantaneous. “You aren't going back to them! Mikey says so!"

Another three shots made their way through the house.

"You're going to listen to  _ Michael _ ?! The ‘snake’ that you despise so much? Why?!"

"I’m not backing out of a promise I made! I’m not going to betray him!”

Wave stared at Trevor with wide eyes, bewildered. He was supposed to want her dead, and yet here he was, endangering his own life to defend her from the people she once worked with. Her chest swelled with gratitude-- that was a commitment her old friends never would have made for her. Trevor despised her, but found her worth protecting.

If Trevor was going to be putting himself in danger for her, then she would do the same. She reached over his hip, yanking out his pistol and a clip from one of the kitchen drawers, and darted to the other side of the door.

"The fuck are you doing!? Get back here now!" He motioned to her with a wild wave of his hand, dripping in sweat and adrenaline.

"No!" she cried, then sent a bullet into her new enemies. “If you’re fighting for me, then I’m fighting for you fighting for me, so sit the fuck down and let me do this!” 

His responding stare was priceless; it was a mix of pride and anger. She never wanted to forget that look for as long as she lived, since it was so foreign on his face. She peered around the door and fired again, and Trevor followed suit. He fired off a quick text to Chef and Ron, who were back at the lab, in all caps shouting for them to come and help.

Pistols are clearly not long range weapons, so it took more than a few shots for Wave to get any kills. When she did, she neither smiled nor cried out in anger, only reloading her clip with surprising swiftness. But even Trevor was disturbed by her impassiveness. She knew these kids. She had grown and played with them, and now she ended their lives without a second thought. She was worse than Michael, but, at the same time, better, because of her newfound loyalty to him. It wasn't even a blind loyalty, or a loyalty out of fear. No, Wave would never be fooled by Trevor into something she didn’t want to do of her own accord. He could force her, but he couldn't fool her. Her loyalty was real. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Despite the dangerous situation they were in, and the more than likely chance that he would have to leave this end of Los Santos for a long time, Trevor laughed, happiness bursting from within him. Someone  _ trusted  _ him. Not liked him, or loved him, but trusted him. Even if she still hated his guts, at least they were close enough that he could put a gun in her hands and trust her not to turn on him. There was a first time for everything, he supposed.

The kids kept coming from cars and around the corners, and the bodies began to pile up. They could have holed out for days with all of the ammunition Trevor had, but the smell of smoke was filling the house, and they soon realized the trailer was on fire.

"Bail!" Wave shouted.

"I'm right here! No need to yell! Jesus!"

Trevor directed her to the window at the far left of the trailer, opposite his bedroom. They leapt from the window, quickly diving behind some junk he happened to have on his lawn. The fighting continued, each side being incredibly cautious with their ammunition.

Trevor was an excellent shot, each hit a critical one, but Wave specialized in headshots, though not every bullet found its mark. On average, they were both equally effective in their kill ratios. But they kept coming, en masse, until there seemed to be nothing they could do to thin out their numbers. 

"This isn't working!" Trevor yelled. "We gotta get the fuck out of here!"

"No!” Waverly cried, tossing a grenade. “We can hold it!"

He glanced back at the trailer, up in flames, along with the acrid scent of leaking gas from somewhere. "Wave, the trailer's about to fucking blow! We have to go  _ now _ !"

"This is your  _ home _ !" she argued, eyes wild.

"I have more than one! Now come on, we got to go, or I’ll pull you by your fucking hair!"

She kicked him as hard as she could, the splint on her left leg shattering. She peeled off the broken hockey stick and the bandages, skin sensitive to the touch, but she paid little mind to it. Then, she took as many weapons as she could hold onto, and leapt into the truck. Trevor followed close behind, starting the truck and backing out and running over several kids in the process.

"I'm sorry if I ran over your legs!" He called. "I was aiming for your head!"

Waverly set up a sniper rifle in the truck bed and shot anyone who dared to attempt to follow them, but that didn't stop cars that began pursuit. Still, she fired at them, aiming for the driver as often as she could. After each successful shot, she cracked a joke, insanity filling her eyes.

"Oh, here, let me part your hair for you!”

“Do you have a Lifeinvader? Allow me to update your status to  _ dead _ !

“Hey, did you know I'm a psychic? I know what the last thing to go through your head will be!"

Trevor jumped into the fun, adding, "They don't have criminal justice where you kids are going! Straight to  _ Hell _ !"

By the time they’d used up most of their ammunition, there was one last car to deal with. Waverly looked forward to Trevor.

"Trevor, I’m out of firepower back here, got any ideas?"

"Yep! Get in the front seat! Buckle up and don't get shot!"

She complied without hesitation, eager to be in a safe spot for once. It was the first time Trevor would let her sit in the front seat of his Bodhi.

He drove recklessly, paying no mind to any of the other traffic or road laws as he sped into wild territory. The other car stayed close behind, never losing and never gaining, much like Trevor's first encounter with Wave. Soon, he came to a bridge he knew was under construction, with a large gaping hole in the middle. He slammed on the gas pedal, chuckling to himself.

"Little birdies can't learn to fly if they don't leave the nest!"

Wave stared ahead to where they were heading, and wordlessly clicked in her seat belt with shaking hands. Both vehicles sped to their limit, but it wasn't enough for the car behind them. While Trevor flew over the gap, the chasers drove straight into the opposing edge, and fell into the river below. The truck rammed to a halt, skidding in the dirt, and the two criminals glanced over their shoulders, amazed that it had actually worked. They were silent, panting, before looking at each other. 

Trevor was the first to laugh. Then, uncertainly, Wave joined in. In the distance, something went “boom,” and they looked in that direction, finding a plume of smoke and flames where Trevor’s trailer had once been. It cut their jubilation short. Trevor cleared his throat as he punched the truck back into drive.

"Kid... you okay?" he inquired.

"... yeah…” She nodded, gulping a few times. “I'm good. I'm good."

Trevor wasn’t convinced, and his cruel demeanor returned. " You lying to me?!"

"No!” Wave shouted at him. “I'm fine, you fuck!"

"Alright then! Alright then…” Then, he frowned, seemingly crestfallen about something. “Huh... it was a piece of shit anyways."

"The trailer?"

"No. My... Impotent Rage... statue."

There was an awkward pause, and another faint explosion in the distance. Then, slowly, Wave shuffled around, and pulled something out of the truck bed from behind her.

"What's this?" Trevor asked.

She held up his Impotent Rage figurine, refusing to make eye contact with him.

"You really like this dude. So... when I realized the place was on fire and we were bailing... and, well, it was just right  _ there,  _ where I could grab it, so I thought… you know..."

He gingerly took the statue from her, cradling it like it was an egg. His thumb brushed over a dirt spot, rubbing it away. He looked at her, and something twisted in his gut. It was a sick feeling, yes, but it was tolerable. And something in his heart leaped, too.

"... Well, I... uh… Let's go to my other place." 

He sped the truck up, and flipped on the radio. Wave looked out the opposite window in silence.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific chapter warnings

"... And then the dumb  _ fuckers _ went 'BOOM'!"

Michael and Franklin cringed at the volume in Wave's voice, but still listened patiently to her side of the gunfight. She’d been retelling it in excited vigor, pacing as she shouted out actions and occurrences, complementing and damning Trevor for his involvement all in the same sentence. Trevor himself chuckled in the corner of Franklin's living room, sipping his pop thoughtfully.

"They didn't stand a chance! I mean,  _ come the fuck on _ ! It was a fucking  _ rocket launcher _ ! Oh, and then there was this one dude behind him, and he crashed too! I mean, really, Dave had it coming to him. He should know better than to fuck with me, of all people. Me! The fucker that put Erica in the fucking ground not even three months ago!"

The two men on the couch looked at each other uncomfortably. It was this easy for her to kill people she knew? This easy to betray the group she’d come to know and work with? Maybe she was more like them than they wanted to admit.

"But then, there was this last car, I think Jessie was in it?.. no, it was Anna, but anyways! Trevor here tells me to buckle up, and then we go flying over a busted bridge, and Anna goes crashing into the river! Oh, if only you had seen the look on her face, Trevor!" She giggled like a girl sharing secrets at a slumber party.

Franklin held up his hand, like he was in elementary school, waiting to get called on. "I’m sorry, bitch, but yo ass is straight-up fuckin freaky! How the fuck can you just bust a cap up in yo' homies like that?"

She ran up to him, roughly grabbing his shoulders. Franklin grasped her hands and shoved her off of him, looking disgusted at her disheveled and dirty appearance.

"Because they chose to fuck with me, 'homie'. I never had any emotional attachment to them anyways! They were just the rats I once lived among, but I am in a better place now!" Wave stepped back, laughing. "I have  _ you guys _ !"

Trevor, Michael and Franklin covered their eyes, mouth and ears, respectively.

"Well, uh, don't get ahead of yourself, kid," Trevor stammered.

"We ain’t even sure what's gonna happen to you when we think it's safe to take you to foster care," Michael added.

Her expression fell. “ _ Foster _ care?" Then, she grew angry. “Fucking  _ foster care?! _ ”

"Yeah, girl, now chill the fuck out. This ain’t no damn game fo' a punk ass fuck like you to be playin’. Yo ass gotta git all up in school n' git yo' degree so you don't end up like us crazy fucks!"

“Yeah, what he said,” Michael agreed. “You’re still young. You’ve got a chance to back the fuck out of this before you get hurt. Trevor tell you about my big fuck up?”

Waverly shook her head, glance darting between Trevor and Michael.

“Course I didn’t tell her,” Trevor said. “Don’t want her getting any funny ideas. You’re not exactly the best source of inspiration, Mikey.”

“Ah, go fuck yourself. Look, kid, the point is, with the way American capitalism and justice works today, going into the underworld for a main source of income isn’t really the brightest idea.”

Wave stood next to Michael, brow furrowed in confusion and anger. "Michael de Santa, what the fuck else am I supposed to do? You seriously think I’m going to muster the attention span to sit through eight hours of fucking lectures for five days a week? No, come on, you know my type better than that; I know you do. I'm sixteen, and this is what I’ve chosen to do with my life. The crime, the drugs, the sex, this is what’s on my plate now. My childhood is over, this... this is my life."

"And it's a horrible one," Michael butt in. "Always on the run from the police?"

She held her arms out defensively. "I've been on the run my whole life."

Michael laughed incredulously. "Always being threatened by opposing gangs and corrupt law officials? If the FIB gets a hold on your balls--"

"Been there, done that."

“Bullshit!” he exclaimed. "No way that’s true. If that were the case, you’d always be pulling favors for ‘em, tugged around by your fucking arm like some puppet. You seriously go through that shit?"

"Every day."

Before Michael could speak up again, Trevor pushed himself from the wall and approached quietly. "Wave, I don't think you're understanding us," he sniffed. "You still have a way out. We don't. We're on the radar, and we always will be. But  _ you _ !" He held out his arms to her, like he was worshipping her. “ _ You’re not _ ! Once your period of servitude under my command is over, you can technically run away with your public innocence while you still can! It’s the best choice for you, honestly."

Wave took a step back, eyes narrowing. “Since when did you, of all people, care about what I do with my life? You want me dead more than anything, you fucker. No. I’m not listening to whatever crock of shit you can spew from your fucking hole."

“I’m being serious!” He exclaimed. “You haven’t been to prison, you’ve got a clean slate! Here’s how the story goes-- you finish your time with me, Michael here turns you in to the Child Protection Agency, you get a happy home, boom, bang, happily ever after! No more guns, no more running, you get the family you’ve always wanted. Makes sense, don’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t make sense, because that’s not what I fucking want with my life!”

Trevor reeled back, staring. “What do you mean it’s not what you  _ fucking-- _ ”

Before things could escalate further, Michael stood up and stepped between them, holding out his hands to keep them arm’s width apart. “Hey, hey, fuck, you guys, cool it the fuck down!”

“She’s a fucking idiot, Michael!” Trevor shouted, trying to work his way past him. Wave stayed where she stood, grinning maliciously. “She’s thinks she’s fucking invincible, that’s what this is! She’s a fucking-- she’s another fucking Judas, I can fucking smell it!”

“Trevor, cool it!” Franklin shouted.

“I don’t even know what the fuck that means!” Wave shouted back, snarling even through her smile. “I like what I do, alright? I love this life, I love kicking the shit out of everybody! I don’t need fuckers like you watching my back making sure I don’t fucking stab you! Don’t tell me how to live my fucking life! I’m not going to foster care, and I’m not going back to fucking Beverley!”

"Fuck you, Wave!" he shouted bitterly. Michael was redirecting all his attention to keeping Trevor away from Wave, but his own shouting was lost in the noise. "You’re an ungrateful prick who can’t see the line between black and white! Do you think this is some kind of joke?! Do you think this is some kind of game?! You fucking idiot!"

Finally, Michael gave him a firm shove back, and Trevor fell. “Trevor, will you fucking listen!? This kid…” he pointed at Wave. “... this kid… doesn’t she remind you of someone? Her fucking determination, her fucking attitude? Doesn’t this remind you of anyone?!”

The man on the floor growled out under his breath, glance switching between Wave and Michael. Franklin stood defensively off to one side, ready to make a grab at the first person he could reach if need be.

“No, I don’t  _ fucking know, _ ” he growled. “But she’s a fucking idiot, that’s what she is. It’s 2014, and she doesn’t fucking get how the world works. She thinks she’s just gonna run into the jaws of Death and come out unscathed with fucking jewels and riches!”

He stumbled to his feet, walking backwards towards the front door to Franklin’s house. He pointed at the three of them.

“She’s gotta learn sometime, Michael! She’s gotta learn that Fate is  _ never  _ on her side! Never! We learned it the hard way, and at this rate, she’s gonna learn it, too!”

He stormed from the room, flipping everyone the bird on his way out. Michael and Franklin sighed in relief, while Wave glared after Trevor’s retreating figure. Once the front door slammed shut behind him, she turned her attention back to the criminals.

“What the fuck was that about?” She asked, gesturing to the door.

“We haven’t exactly had it easy,” Michael replied, waving his hand in a circle. “Lots of our own heists have gone south in the past.”

Wave stared at Michael. “Wait, you ran jobs back in the day?”

“Course I did,” he explained. “What, you thought I was a movie producer my whole life? No, if only life were that simple. I had to work my ass of and make a lot of wrong turns to get where I am now, and it started with jobs like that. I learned the hard way though that once you start, you can probably never get out. Why Trevor gives a fuck whether you do or not doesn’t matter to me. What does matter though, is that now we know you can hold your own in a fight, and that’s big. I say this because Frank and I, we’ve been planning a little something, and we’re, for the most part, ready to go. What we do need, however, is a decoy."

"A  _ decoy? _ " Wave frowned. “That’s what you think I’m worth? A fucking  _ decoy?! _ ”

“No, God, of course not! You’re reading me wrong, kid!” Michael approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s just a role, it’s not what you are. If that makes any sense. We’re not leaving you fucking defenseless if you agree, we just need a distraction while we go for the goods.  _ If  _ you agree, and I ain’t judging you if you don’t go for it. It's easy. I will tell you exactly what to do."

"Ah, I don't know ‘bout all dis bullshit. We straight-up goin’ put a kid on the front lines?" Franklin folded his arms in a minor show of defiance.

"Hey, Frank, you heard her story,” Michael argued, patting her arm, She stepped away from him, looking disgusted. Michael seemed grossed out himself once he remembered how dirty she was, but made no comment. “She may be exactly what we need. And besides, she don't want to be anywhere else... might as well give her something to do, right?"

Wave nodded in agreement, and looked up at Michael. "What do we need to do to prepare?" she asked.

Michael smiled down at her. "Ah, I like the way you think! Well, it seems to me from what Trevor told me, you prefer headshots, right?"

"Yeah, but it’s not only that. It comes naturally," she admitted, shrugging. “Just automatically aim for the head.”

"That's fine, great, actually, but we aren't looking to make a mess this time around. We're going small, just a cute little jewelry store off of Vespucci Boulevard. You're going to need to learn how to handle tear gas, and tasers if things get physical. It's some pretty nasty stuff, but not lethal if used correctly."

She seemed bored by the idea, but she shrugged. "I can handle that."

Michael smirked down at her, although that nonchalant behavior left his blood feeling slightly cold. "We'll see." He then turned to Franklin. “Frank, go ahead and go buy us some gas masks, would you? I’m going teach Wave how to throw the cans. Tell Trevor to get the guns.”

Franklin shook his head, and headed for the door. “Shit, whatever, man. Don’t you be throwing shit ‘round Chops untrained ass, motherfucker chases anythin’ you’re tossin’ ‘round.”

“Don’t sweat it, we’re leaving too.” He waved the girl towards the door. “Get in the black car, kid, the Tailgater.”

“Sure, sure,” she muttered. 

When the two of them went out the front door, Trevor’s truck was already gone. Michael continued to walk, but stopped when he realized Wave wasn’t behind him anymore. She was running out to the street, looking around wildly. She looked panicked.

“Hey, what’s your problem?” Michael called, watching her curiously.

“Where’d Trevor go?” She asked rather loudly.

Surprised, Michael leaned against the trunk of his car. “He just went to get the guns, kid. Don’t sweat it. What, did you leave something in his truck? He’s coming back, you know. Relax.”

Wave looked dazed as she stared at Michael, but her expression slowly cooled back into the hardened teen Michael knew. She nodded, and headed to the car. “Yeah, right. Should’ve figured.”

Michael got in the driver’s seat, smirking to himself as he started the car and pulled out. “I’d have though you wouldn’t give a damn where Trevor wandered off to. Didn’t think you cared about him.”

“What the fuck, Michael? No, I don’t care about Trevor!” Wave snapped at him, seemingly appalled that he would suggest that she had any sort of positive emotion towards Trevor. “When you’re stuck with the same asshole for two months, almost three, night and day, of course you’re gonna wonder where the fuck they went. If my life didn’t depend on his, I’d have shot him down by now. Left him to rot in that dirty fucking trailer of his, if it was still around.”

“Oh, I bet,” Michael taunted. “And I would have shot Trevor too if he wasn’t my best friend.”

“Boy, you sure know how to pick ‘em,” she countered.

“What can I say? I was a… a real fuckin’ confused kid, Wave. I was fucking up right and left, and letting Trevor into my life was arguably the biggest fucking mistake I made.”

Wave pondered it for a moment. “That reminds me. You mentioned a big fuck up. And Trevor told you he didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me getting ideas. Care to elaborate on that?”

Michael chuckled, and shook his head uncomfortably.

“That’s probably a story best left for another time, kid. Maybe when I know I can trust you a hundred percent, but for right now, all I know is that you’re a fucking shadow, a mirror image, to Trevor. The last thing I need is two psychos crawling up my ass for mistakes I made ten years ago.”

Wave shouted at Michael. “Don’t you fucking compare me to that gross sack of shit! He’d shoot at his own face if it wasn’t attached to his fucking head! He’s the most unhinged, fucking deranged motherfucker I’ve ever had the misfortune of getting involved with, and trust me, I’ve had to deal with a clusterfuck of crazies in this God-forsaken town. Ditzy bimbos, fucking douchebag players catcalling me, fucking pedo old fuckers stalking my teenage ass-- I’m sick of the shit, but the last thing I want in my life is to be compared to fucking Trevor Philips!”

“Jesus,” Michael breathed out, “I’m sorry, Wave, but the similarities-- I can’t just fuckin’ ignore them. Alright, so maybe you’re not a Trevor Philips replica, I get that. But just looking at you, I can’t help but see it. The facial scars, the tattered clothes, the overall dirty appearance, and those are all just surface things. I won’t get started on the fucking identical behavioral issues. And I met Trevor when he was just five years older than you, kid. He hasn’t fucking changed. I’m looking at you now, and I’m thinking about what your future might be like. I think of my own daughter, and it freaks me the fuck out.”

“I’m not a fucking disgusting Los Santos child spawn,” she replied coldly, and Michael glared at her. “Everyone’s fucking sun baked, but not me. Oh, no, Michael, my eyes are wide fuckin’ open, I’m staring into the sun while the rest of these assholes around us are squinting down at the Vinewood sidewalk.”

“There you go, mini Philips,” Michael said before he could stop it.

Wave reeled back her arm, and punched Michael hard in his arm. The car swerved as he cried out, grasping his bruising arm tightly.

“What the  _ fuck?! _ ” He shouted.

“ _ Don’t fucking compare me to Trevor! _ ” She exclaimed. “We are  _ nothing  _ alike, so stop pretending we are! I don’t want to be affiliated with that fucking psychotic asshole, so shut your fucking mouth before I rip out that silver fucking tongue and spill your blood on whatever screenplay you’re sulking over now!”

Michael stared at her with wide, frightened eyes. ‘ _ She’s  _ just  _ like him. _ ’ He thought worriedly. “Christ, Waverly!” He whispered fearfully, yanking his gaze back to the road. “Jesus, alright, fuck! I get it. Message fucking recieved!”

She stared him down with predator’s eyes, before relaxing. She closed her eyes, and after ten seconds, let out a long sigh.

“Where are you taking me, anyways?”

Michael chuckled nervously. “Somewhere secluded. Away from public eyes, so we don’t hurt nobody. You don’t exactly want to toss tear gas down the beach.”

She “humphed” in dismissal.

“You seem harmless enough,” Wave mused. “If it comes down to it, I can rip your throat out if I have to. Just make sure to keep your distance, and leave any projectile weapons in the car.”

“Very suspicious,” Michael commented. “Keep that attitude and you might actually survive in this business. Rule number one if you plan on making this kind of shit your living: Don’t let anyone get too close, kid. I let Trevor in. Worst fucking mistake of my life. If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be in this car today, talking like this.” He laughed, then rubbed at his arm, wincing. “Sheesh, you, uh, you really pack a fucking punch there, kid.”

Waverly just shrugged, staring out the passenger window.

The car pulled off the main road near Mt. Chilliad into a more secluded part, a side dirt road that ended in a dead end. Here, Michael stopped the car. Then, he reached into his side pocket, and pulled out a pistol. Waverly tensed, staring at the weapon, but Michael waved it loosely in front of her in his hand, then tossed it in the back seat.

“No weapons, right?” He asked. “I figure Trevor stripped you of whatever you had when you were sure you were far enough away from your old buddies.”

Wave rolled her eyes dramatically, then procured her own personal pistol, and threw it back as well. “Not everything.”

He nodded at her, and stepped out of the car. She joined him, and they went to the trunk together as Michael explained the mechanics of throwing tear gas cans.

"Never throw the can with the lid facing you, kid. It’s fucking suicide if you do it that way. That is, unless you  _ want _ your lungs to turn to acid. I get the feeling you don’t, of course."

"Yeah yeah, I got it, de Santa."

They both grabbed a few cans, and went in front of the car, where the wind was blowing away from them. He pointed off into the distance.

"Okay, there are a few directions you can throw the stuff. There's forward, north-west and north-east. Not left or right, that'll be at too much of an angle to do any good. It'll be up to you to determine which direction is best, because we only got two cans we can leave you with once you get in there. Everyone else, if you can’t manage to get at everyone, we're gonna have to beat down. You ever been in a fistfight?"

"Why don't you ask Trevor?" She implied.

"I had a feeling..."

 

* * *

 

 

A couple hours later, the four criminals met back at Trevor's safehouse behind the Vanilla Unicorn to plot out the heist. Trevor held open the back door for them, nodded at Michael and Franklin, and growled down at Wave. She lunged towards him in a threat, but didn’t actually touch him. She joined the others shortly.

Once they all were inside, Wave took no time to get acquainted with the new surroundings, instead heading straight for the fridge. As soon as she tried to open it, Trevor shoved her away, opening it himself. Wave scowled, and tumbled into the couch next to Franklin. Michael laid out the schematics, Trevor distributed drinks, and Franklin went over the play.

"A’right, so the plan is real fuckin’ easy. Waverly n' I is goin’ to play it cool until we get the go ahead from Lester n' shit. Girl s’posedly just goin’ ta be a cold-ass lil hustler taken a look round the store, n' I'ma put a glock to her head. That's gonna be the distraction until Trevor n' Mike can get the charges up in place. We goin’ to gotta blow a hole up in the back, ‘cause there ain't parkin’ up in the front. Pretty fuckin’ stupid if you ask me."

"Then once they blow the charges, I toss the tear gas and we all get on our masks?" Wave asked, crossing her arms and legs.

"Exactly," Michael confirmed. "We've looked inside and out of this thing, and this seems to be the only way to get around it without using the tactics we’ve already exhausted in the past. Going straight in gets the police on us straightaway. If there's a hostage situation, the cocksuckers running the joint are going to try to solve it themselves, simply because they can’t be bothered to fill out paperwork. We’ve seen another group do it before. It’s what works, which gains us some getaway time."

"So then we grab the jewels and bolt?" Trevor asked.

"An' then that's it," Franklin concluded.

"Seems too easy,” Wave commented, sipping on the can of beer Trevor had given her. “Are we going to need any outside help?"

From outside, in the direction of the strip club, footsteps could be heard, until a figure appeared in the doorway. "Well," said Lester as he limped into the room, "if you count me as outside help, then yes. And you've got it. I assume you're the kid Trevor 'raves' about."

He holds out a hand for her to shake, and she just stares at it, before he drops it awkwardly. “Waverly,” she tells him.

"No last name?" Lester looks at her.

"Lost in time."

"Well, sorry to hear that. I could probably look it up for you if you’re dying to know.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “You're kidding, right?” She then looked up at Trevor and asked, “Wait, who the fuck even is this?”

“This,” Trevor said dramatically, “is Lester Crest. He’s our technical expertise when the work is small and we don’t need to hire a hacker. He will be disabling security cameras, nothing more, and yet will still be helping himself to a fifth of the cut.”

“Hacking into private systems isn’t as easy as you might think, Trevor,” Lester countered. “You may think that all the groundwork is the only useful part of it all, but you don’t know how grand it is to actually use your intelligence towards something technical every now and then.”

Trevor mocked Lester’s words by flapping his hand to the beat of his words. Lester, at the sight of it, waved him away, muttering, “you’d never understand.” He then turned to Michael. “I figured I’d introduce myself to the new recruit, see if I think she’s worth trusting. Not bad, so far, but we’ll see how she performs under heat. How’s her shooting?”

“Decent,” Trevor told him. “For a girl, that is.”

“Really?” She looked at him with peeved eyes. “You’re really going there? The ‘like a girl’ argument?”

“In all seriousness,” he continued, “She really does know how to shoot. Misses fairly often, but the shots she does get in are always head shots, so that’s always grand.”

“Good to hear,” Lester said in all honesty. “I’ll get the equipment set up here, and it’ll take a few days. Software needs to download, but I don’t need to be here for that. Trevor, you’ll have to monitor it. Expect to hear from me Tuesday, when everything is all ready to go. But for now…”

He sat at the messy desk, brushing away wrappers and other things to make room.

“I’m stealing your computer.” And without another word, he inserted a flash drive from his pocket, program after program invading Trevor’s file spaces.

“Fine, fine,” Trevor said, shrugging it off. He then turned to Wave, eyeing her appearance, and frowning. He pointed off in a different room.

“You, go shower,” he commanded. “You’re filthy.”

She stood up and did so wordlessly. Michael and Franklin watched after her as she did so.

“Hey,” Michael asked Trevor, “does she have anything clean to change into when she gets out?”

“I don’t know,” Trevor admitted. “I didn’t think about that shit.”

The older man shook his head, and walked out the door. “Jesus, you ever think about anyone but yourself? And I thought I was a bad caretaker. I’m getting Tracey, and we’re getting her some clothes. I haven’t seen her in anything other than what we found her in in a month ago, maybe two.”

“Fuck that, Tracey’s fashion sense screams whore!” Trevor shouted. He pointed at Michael. “You make sure to give your personal input, you hear me? Don’t let them whore out my intern!”

“Your intern?” Franklin exclaimed. “She’s your fuckin’ intern now? That’s a whole ‘nother level of fucked up right there, but fuck man, you do whatever, it ain’t none of my business.”

He stood up and followed Michael out the door, and Trevor saluted them as they left. He turned back to Lester with curiosity in his eyes. He spread out his arms. “Well? What do you think? Of the kid?”

“Well, you certainly seem to have taken a liking to her,” he pointed out. “That, or I could be mistaking adoration for some creepy crush, but I am certainly in no place to judge, so don’t take my words as gospel.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, that’s great,” Trevor rattled out, “but I wasn’t asking about me, I was asking about  _ you.  _ What do  _ you  _ think of her? Trustworthy? Fishy? Come on now, you formulate opinions on first glances like the rest of us low-lifes, so give me what you got.”

The computer techie leaned back in his chair, pushing his glasses up his face as he sighed. “Honestly? There’s something… off, about her. I feel like I may have seen her before, but I can’t recall where at the current moment. And by off, I mean in the physical and mental sense, not in a sense of morality. At least, where you and Michael are concerned as a model of behavior, she doesn’t seem too bad. By off, I mean that I think I’ve seen a file on her somewhere before. I’m going to do some research into it when I get some time, but for now, I have to monitor these downloads until I know we’re past the default firewall and good to go.”

“Right, alright, fair enough.” Trevor clasped his hands together, rubbing them excitedly. “Can’t wait for Tuesday, Lester! Oh, and help yourself to the women back front when you’re done, you’ve more than earned it for the service you are doing the thr- _ four  _ of us.”

Lester just gave Trevor a small smirk, before proceeding with the task at hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific chapter warnings

A week passed without incident. Trevor and Wave settled in to the Vanilla Unicorn without further trouble from the Urban Tigers. She seemed more than discontented with her surroundings the first two days, but quickly warmed up to the overall air of the place, often sitting outside to talk with the patrons and the strippers. The bouncers, knowing that she was with Trevor, left her be, despite the fact that she was clearly underage and shouldn’t have been there. With Trevor, they knew that whatever he said was law, and took that to heart if they didn’t want to get hurt.

Wave took a liking to the boa constrictor they kept in the dressing room, often snatching up rats from outside to feed to it, grinning in perverse amusement at the blood, and the shape of the creature in the snake’s throat. Within four short days, she’d managed to tame the beast, and would take it out of its pen, allowing it to slither all over her and around. The creature never lashed out at her, or hurt her, to Trevor’s relief. That was his job.

Of course, being in there meant that she would have to interact with the strippers when they came in. Nikki and Juliet seemed to take special notice of Wave, and would often drag her back to do her makeup on their breaks, much to her chagrin. Trevor found it amusing. He did not, however, like it when they would play “dress up,” and promptly banned the strippers from touching Wave anywhere below her facial region. When he asked her why she didn’t fight back when they took her clothes off, she said, “I’d rather not beat ‘em up and then get fucked up by you because I damaged the merchandise.”

Trevor shook his head even as he laughed.

“No no, Waverly, you do not let _anyone_ touch you without a fight, even my beautiful ladies. If you’d just explained that after the fact, more likely than not, I would have left you be. You do not let _anyone_ do anything to you against your will without your consent. You fight those fuckers to the death if you have to, do you understand?”

“Like I fight with you?” She snapped irritably. “And how I lose?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. Then, he jammed a finger harshly into her sternum, and emphasised:

“But with them, you _win_. You don’t take that shit, you fucking lay it down. Understand?”

Wave stared at Trevor out of the corner of her eye, mouth set straight as she gave a curt nod.

“Good,” Trevor grinned. “Now go wash that shit off your face.”

Michael arrived that Saturday with two shopping bags on each arm, looking thoroughly exhausted. On the other hand, Tracey de Santa, his daughter, rushed in with four bags on each arm, shouting in excitement.

“Oh my God, Dad, where _is_ she?!” Tracey began searching the back rooms quickly, struggling to not stumble in her high heels. “I gotta see how she looks in these!”

“Calm down, Trace,” Michael urged her sweetly. “I’m sure the kid’s around. Let me find Trevor, he always knows where she is.” He pointed at the couch, and Tracey sat down in it, folding her arms after she set down the various shopping bags next to the ones her father had dropped. He exited the back room, and found Trevor sitting at the bar wrapped around a bottle of whiskey. Michael sighed as he beheld the sight-- with Trevor, it was always the same. Nothing ever changed. Wave was next to him, back to the bar as she surveyed the somewhat empty strip club. When she spotted Michael, she smiled slightly and waved him over.

“Trevor,” she barked, nudging the meth addict with her elbow. “Michael’s here.”

He made a sound of annoyance as he turned around to face his old running buddy, clearly slightly buzzed. He shoved his drink back towards the bartender, standing with a small stumble.

“What d’you want?” He questioned Michael, frowning slightly.

“Tracey and I got Waverly here some decent clothes to wear,” Michael informed him. “She’s waiting for us in back. God knows the kid can use a new set of threads.” As he said this, he gestured at Wave’s filthy, ruined shirt and pants turned to shorts.

Trevor eyed Michael with suspicion. “Tracey?”

“I helped,” the older man added. “Very reluctantly, but only because I somewhat get the kid’s style, and don’t want my money being wasted on shit she’s not gonna wear.”

Trevor paced, still uncertain, but another glance at Wave’s disheveled appearance made up his mind for him.

“She doesn’t get any of it without my approval,” Trevor growled with finality.

“Jesus, thank you.” Wave sighed with relief, marching ahead to the back room, Michael and Trevor close behind.

Tracey shot up in excitement at the sound of unfamiliar footsteps, but as soon as she laid eyes on Wave, her face fell. She couldn’t tear her eyes away, never having seen a girl be such a mess and be so comfortable in it in her life.

In response, Wave held out her arms and smiled crookedly.

“Take a picture, sweetheart, it’ll last longer.”

Tracey shook off her initial shock, and smiled again at Wave. “Sorry, sorry,” she apologized profusely, “it’s just, the scars threw me off. I wasn’t expecting someone so… grungy.”

“Figures,” she scoffed, folding her arms as Michael and Trevor finally joined her. “Who are you, anyways?”

“Oh, I’m Tracey,” the blonde told her with a girlish giggle. “Michael’s my dad. He really seem to like you, uh, Wave, right? Yeah, he says you’re pretty cool and you needed some new clothes, so I thought I’d help him with the selection so that you weren’t walking around in stupid 80’s style clothes.”

“Yep, because God forbid she actually wears decent fashion.” Trevor marched ahead, looking through the shopping bags, much to Tracey’s dismay.

“Before we put anything on her, I want to check for modesty, ease, we want comfortable shit, shit she can run around in, shit that isn’t flashy, and absolutely no skirts, no matter what.”

Tracey complained instantly. “That, like, takes off half of the list!”

“Good,” Michael said, “more money I can get back.”

Trevor yanked out the first shirt he found that was decent, and tossed it at Wave. It was a white shirt with green sleeves, and her eyes lit up.

“This should be good,” she murmured as her smile grew.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday came. Trevor was at the computer, Wave in a cot at the front of the desk in a sleeping bag. It was all he’d graced her with in terms of a place to sleep-- he’d only wanted to give her the sleeping bag, but Franklin had insisted when he saw it that Trevor get her a cot at the very least. Reluctantly, Trevor did so.

He glanced up every now and then when he would hear her stirring, wondering if she was finally awake. She was sleeping in slightly later than usual, tossing and turning, and muttering occasionally. As time went on, her mutterings grew louder, though still unintelligible. Her thrashing grew.

A half hour after her usual wakeup time, she woke in a cold sweat, clutching her right arm and crying, "Stop!"

Trevor jumped at the sudden awakening, then growled, pushing away from the desktop. "Stop?! Stop what? The fuck is that supposed to mean? Huh?"

Wave panted heavily, still trying to calm down enough to correctly form words. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, sweat dripping from her nose and chin. She said nothing. After a few seconds, he realized something truly was wrong, and he rolled his chair around the desk next to her, concern in his eyes. Michael would have night terrors back in the day-- what caused them, he would never talk about it, but Trevor had always been there to bring him back to reality, before Amanda came in and ruined the picture. His instincts kicked in now, brain commanding him to assume a helpful role.

"Wave, come on kid, what's up?" He asked, his voice several volumes lower than usual.

"Nothing!" she gasped. Then, softer, "... nothing."

"No. This isn't 'nothing'. Something's wrong. Talk to me."

Wave gasped a bit more, face pale as she regained control of her respiratory system. After a few more seconds, she gulped out, "It was just a nightmare, Trevor. I'm really okay."

All sorts of possibilities ran through his mind, none of them positive in the slightest. He’d researched night terrors back when he was in North Yankton with Michael still. It was a bit unusual she was having them this late in the morning, but it was the textbook definition of a night terror. The sweating, the thrashing, everything, though she seemed to be able to calm herself better than most.

He also realized that she was clutching her arm still. He eyed her, seeing her gaze was still unfocused. Gently, he pried her hand away, and examined the area she’d been clutching like a lifeline. The area where her hand had been was white, due to how hard she was holding it. As soon as the blood returned, Trevor could see an extremely faint scar. It was about three inches long, and was horizontal. When he probed at the area, Wave struggled out of his grasp, muttering, "Don' touchit."

“I just want to look at it-” He tried to investigate it again, but Wave tumbled backwards out of the cot onto the floor, screaming at him.

“Don’t _touch it!_ ”

Trevor blinked, surprised and a little bit frightened by the outburst. He raised his hands defensively. "Fine. Your arm is your business. I just thought it was interesting is all."

They watched each other warily for a moment, expecting the other to make a move of some sort, violent or otherwise. In the end, Wave was the first to break the stillness. She stood shakily, and Trevor allowed her the room to do so. She made her way to the fridge, and pulled out a soda. She let it nearly slip from her hands twice, but managed to keep a grip on the aluminum can. She opened the tab, and sat on the couch.

"So,” she said, “when are you gonna get something solid and actually edible to eat in here? It's been four days, Trevor. Believe it or not, I do actually need sustenance like any normal teenager."

"How does today sound?" he asked. She lifted an eyebrow expectantly, expecting clarification. "Have you forgotten what today is?"

"Uh, no, it's Tuesday,” she said matter-of-factly. She looked confused for a second longer, before she remembered. “Oh, shit, wait, the heist’s today, right?”

"That's right, kiddo!" he confirmed, waggling his eyebrows excitedly. “I guarantee it will be the highlight of your week. Nothing is more satisfying than a huge take from a small score, and that’s what you’ll find yourself facing today. You ready to make some dough?"

"Hell yes I am!" There was an obvious excitement in her eyes as she contained herself from bouncing off the walls, squirming in her seat.

"You gonna be a prick and make off with it and leave us to face the heat?!" He questioned her loudly, face contorting into poorly masked anger and distrust. At this, Waverly looked offended.

"What kind of fucking traitor do you take me for, no, I’m not going to ditch you! Hasn’t the past three months been enough to prove that?"

"I don’t know!” Trevor exclaimed defensively. “We haven’t exactly seen what kind of gemstone you turn into under pressure and heat, Waverly. I guess we’ll figure it out today. Oh wait, here, put this on." He tossed her a blonde wig and a hairband. Her nose scrunched up at the sight.

"The hell is this for?"

Trevor held up his own disguise: an Elvis mask and a Grim Reaper costume. "Don't want to be recognized right off the bat, do you, kid?"

“Costumes were never discussed,” she pointed out, staring at the wig like it was contaminated.

“True,” he agreed, “but it’s part of the plan now, so get used to it. Now come on, we have to meet Michael and Franklin at Michael’s place.” He pointed her towards the door, and she rolled her eyes as she marched out.

 

* * *

 

 

At the front of Michael's mansion in Los Santos was the strangest couple you would probably ever see. There was a pig with a cigar wearing a tuxedo, and a zombie wearing a plaid dress, with thick leather boots. They stood side by side, awaiting the arrival of the other two members of the crew.

"This is fucking stupid," the zombie complained, pacing in his dress uncomfortably.

"You know the drill, Frank," the pig replied. "Each heist has to be approached differently, or they'll figure out our patterns."

"But why do I gotta wear a fuckin’ dress!? It don’t matter how much we scorin’ here, this is bullshit! Ain’t nobody payin’ me enough for this shit!"

"Relax, Frank. The more flashy you look for the decoy, the better," he explained. Within the next few minutes, the red, topless truck soon made its way over the paved driveway, Elvis and blondy in tow. When the truck switched off, Trevor stepped out, giggling to himself.

"Alrighty then!" Elvis exclaimed. "Take a look, one and all, at our gorgeous decoy!"

He pointed to Waverly, who was wearing a light blue dress with some flats and a small handbag. Her thick shades, surprisingly enough, complimented the outfit. It was always sunny in Los Santos; no one would suspect a thing. She dropped out of the truck, looking extremely uncomfortable as she did so, and joined the rest of them.

"I feel absolutely fucking retarded," Wave complained. "How do chicks go around dressed like this every fucking day?"

"You an' me both, kid," the zombie agreed, bumping fists with the teen.

"Hey, listen," the pig butted in, "we gotta do this right, so everyone listen up. I'm only going to go over the plan one more time."

"One time too many, coming from your mouth." The Elvis Reaper snorted.

"Fuck off, T."

 

* * *

 

 

The plan had gone off without a hitch-- Wave had fooled the store owners, and Franklin had come in threatening her, using her as a hostage. She screamed and kicked and cried like her life depended on it. Trevor and Michael, meanwhile, set off the charges, and Franklin and Wave tossed their teargas canisters. The four of them gathered as many gems and stones as they could within the short timeframe given, and bolted from the store.

It was Trevor's idea to let Waverly be the one to drive them out of the fire. The only one who had second thoughts was Franklin. He hadn't seen her drive before, and besides: it was his job most of the time, anyways. To let a rookie take control of the situation seemed foolhardy to him, and downright stupid. He wasn’t sure what Trevor was thinking.

Trevor's argument was, "Do you know if a bird can fly if you never let it out of its cage?" He stepped up to Franklin with a menacing tone to his voice as he said this.

So Wave drove.

Everything seemed to be going fine. At first, she drove normally to try and avert suspicion, and it worked for a while. But someone must have squealed, because the police had them picked out within five minutes. The sirens blared to life, and at the same moment, the van lurched forward as it picked up speed.

“Ah, fuck,” Michael cursed under his breath. “Pick up the pace, kid.”

Wave nodded, keeping the van steady at first as she sped up. Suddenly, Waverly shouted out. "Left!" she yelled, and the van made a sharp turn in said direction.

"Jesus Christ!" someone yelled.

"Things are gonna get fucking messy!” She exclaimed as she started weaving through traffic. “Hold on to the cheddar!"

"Don't have to tell me twice!" Franklin shouted back.

The criminals had a slight disadvantage due to the weight of their vehicle, but Wave's skilled driving mostly cancelled it out. As for the police, they were brutal and merciless. They floored their gas, doing their best to catch up to the van. Those who got close rubbed up against the back of the van, causing the driver to swerve.

"Come on kid," Michael urged. "They're right there!"

"I'm trying!" She spat back at him.

"Try harder!" Trevor yelled.

Waverly gripped the steering wheel harder, mouth set in a straight line. "Fuck you, T!"

He whipped his head around to shout at her. "I told you not to call me that!"

"I will turn this car around, mister!"

"No!" all of the men shouted at the same time.

The van was roughly bumped from the side by a police car, rushing the van onto the wrong side of the road. Wave cried out in frustration, dodging the oncoming traffic with harsh yanks to the wheel. Before they could be hit, Wave turned the car around sharply, and began heading in the opposite direction.

Waverly pressed a finger to her earpiece that she’d been supplied with before they went into the jewelry store, getting Lester on her line. "Crest, we gotta lose them, or we'll never make it back to the safehouse! Get on the traffic cams; I gotta know what to look out for!"

"Already am--"

"Trevor, we need someone to ease the congestion. Take care of some of those cops!" She commanded him without peeling her eyes off of the road.

At being told what to do by his subordinate, Trevor fumed. "Why, you little-!"

Michael cut in. "Is now really the time to be arguing, T?! With an entire police station crawling up our asses?!"

Trevor roared his frustration, before calming himself. "... point taken. One cooked up police dispatch, coming up!"

"Franklin,” the teen continued, “you work with Trevor. Michael, I want you up here with me. If the fuzz get clever and try to cut us off up front, someone'll have to shoot them."

"Good thinking, kid."

Trevor flung the doors open to the back of the van, laughing and cussing like a sailor. In response to some of Trevor’s insults, Michael facepalmed, making a slick slapping noise against his pig mask.

"How do you work with these kids?" Waverly asked him sincerely.

Michael gave her a look.

The van was bumped again, and Franklin shouted, "Yeah? Fuck you too!"

"Steady, Frankie!" Trevor shouted.

"Speak for yourself!"

Suddenly, Waverly yanked on the wheel-hard. Everyone veered into the left wall of the van as she turned right onto a one-way street. The police got caught up in the traffic she dodged around, piling up on one another, and, in her earpiece, Lester laughed.

"I'd told you it'd work!" he chanted to her. “Okay, but watching those guys fall over, that was pretty funny. Please don’t tell Trevor I said that.”

"Waverly, what the fuck!?" Trevor cried.

"Bitch, you tryin’ ta flatten my ass?!"

"Shut up!” She shouted back at them. “It put fucking distance between us and the cops, so stop your fucking complaining!"

After a groan, Michael spoke up. "Wave's right," he shuddered, his head pounding from having hit the window. "Just let her do her thing, and I think we'll be okay."

"Or, you know, dead in a great big ball of flame!" Trevor yelled.

"Either one’s better than prison!" Michael called back.

Lester spoke to Waverly again after he had calmed down. "Okay, okay... So, there's an empty highway off your next right. It's a good place to go to lose the cops."

"Right!" she shouted. This time, everyone braced themselves.

Lester had been right, in a sense. The one crucial fact he had left out was that it was under construction, so it wasn't exactly easy come easy go. It was bumpy and extremely dangerous, filled with construction equipment and other object hazards. The three men were not happy with this fact. The teen, however, slouched forward, a crooked grin sneaking on her face.

"Perfect," she purred.

This was her domain. Off-road.

The police followed close behind, sirens blaring to the max. "Pull over, fucker!" one shouted. Wave leaned back in her seat, rolling down her window. Her glasses remained on her face, blonde hair ultimately hiding her identity.

"Afternoon, officers!" Wave replied. “Is there a problem?”

"Is that a kid!?" one asked.

She didn’t grace them with a reply of any sort, veering hard to the left, and ramming into the neighboring car, sending them flying off the highway.

“Fuckin’ A, kid!” Michael hollered.

Meanwhile, the three other men in the car were struggling just to stay on their feet, but their shots were surprisingly accurate for their current situation. Many of the pursuing cops crashed into one another due to their lack of living drivers, causing explosions and fires all along the construction sight.

"How we doing back there!?" Michael called.

"Just fucking dandy!" Trevor growled.

Franklin shouted. "Get out the heavy stuff!"

Michael rummaged through their equipment, and tossed Franklin an RPG. "Knock yourself out, kid! T, throw the leftover sticky bombs!"

"Aye aye, Captain!"

Waverly switched feet on the gas pedal, her current one getting tired and sore from flooring it for so long. "Those fuckers just don't know when to quit!"

"It's the law." Lester loudly slurped on his coffee. "It's their job."

"Not helping, Lester!"

"Look, do you want the facts, or would you like it sugar coated?!"

"Neither! God, you’re a fucking asshole!"

As she screamed that, Franklin fired the RPG into the following cars, sending their fiery remains flying and tumbling through the sky. And that's when they could see the end of the highway. Wave glanced up from her screaming at Lester, and her expression paled.

"Hey assholes!?" She screamed back at her passengers. “We’re running out of highway here!”

"We got one last mutha fuckah'!"

Trevor threw his last sticky bomb and detonated it immediately. He was right on target-- as soon as the weapon planted itself on the hood of the police car, it burst into flames and came to an immediate hault.

"Stop the fucking van!" he yelled.

Waverly put all of her force into the foot brake and flipped on the handbrake, desperately trying to stop the van in anyway possible. The edge was _right there_. The van continued to skid, rocks and pebbles rattling under the tires.

"Back of the van, back of the van, now!” She shouted at Michael. He scrambled to do so, tumbling over the passenger seat and cowering in the back along with Trevor and Franklin.

The van stopped inches within the drop off, the sound of rocks tumbling off especially loud knowing that that could have been them. Everyone panted heavily, the adrenaline rushing through their ears. They’d been inches from a horrible, probably explosive death, and yet here they all were, alive and unharmed. Well, for the most part.

After a moment to catch their breaths, Wave turned around, smiling. There was a small gash across her forehead from where a bullet had grazed her.

"That... was fun."

She laughed lowly, tossing her head back. Blood trickled from the wound down her temple. Trevor stood up roughly and stomped towards her. He took her head roughly in his hands, shaking her.

"You fucking idiot!" Trevor howled. "You could have killed us all! You could have died yourself! Look, you dumb shit, you got fucking shot! Had that been an inch farther back, you’d be fucking dead, _and then we’d all be fucking dead!_ -"

"Trevor!!" everyone shouted.

“ _What?!_ ” He whirled around, blood on his hands from trying to stop her bleeding. She pushed his hands off of her, recoiling in her seat. Her eyes were wide and wild at having been grabbed that way, her gaze trained on Trevor. The sociopath straightened himself and regained his calm, yet pissed countenance.

"... good job... Waverly."

The tension was broken. Everyone smiled, and laughed. Then, the sound of sirens echoed in the distance. Wave hurried to back up the van and backtrack down the ruined highway to rejoin traffic, hopefully, to shake off the police for good.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wave implies one-sided past Michael/Trevor relationship, physical abuse

It was the first time Wave had set foot within Michael’s house. She’d torn off her wig and pocketed her sunglasses, leaving her only in her long blue sundress, barefoot. Michael lead the way, Franklin close behind as they laughed and celebrated their success, with Trevor stomping smugly even behind them, which left Wave, cautiously creeping forward through the stained glass doors. The take from the heist was much better than the last-- they each would get five hundred grand each, easy, maybe even more, and they were in high spirits, considering it was the best take they’d had in months.

 Wave had been loudly celebrating with them only moments before, the gash on her head bandaged and left to heal on its own, but now that she was within the de Santa home for the first time, since that fateful day she encountered Trevor three months ago, she found herself growing quiet.

While Michael and Franklin headed into the living room without pause, ignoring shouts and cussing from Michael’s son somewhere upstairs, Wave stared at the bright lights and the clean linoleum floor, the table, the chandelier, everything. She found herself gawking, spinning in a slow little circle, and Trevor stopped short of disappearing around the corner to look back at her with amusement on his face. He whistled at her, catching her attention, and she tore her gaze away from the ceiling.

“The boys didn’t turn into glass shards,” he informed her with a small chuckle.

“Fuck right off,” she grunted, stepping up to him. “It’s a nice place, I didn’t think I wasn’t allowed to admire it.”

“It’s a bit of an eyesore, ain’t it?”

Wave frowned at Trevor. “No, it’s nice. Looks good.”

“I disagree,” he replied, tutting and shaking his head. “Too many warm colors. Needs some blue, or purple, anything to get out of so many fucking reds.”

From the living room, Michael called out, “I don’t get invited to  _ your _ house to fucking taunt your decor choice, don’t discriminate against mine!”

Trevor rolled his eyes, and found Wave giving him a strange look. He clicked his tongue, and said, “Didn’t your daddy teach you it’s rude to stare?”

He realized his comment too late as Waverly’s eyes clouded over in rage and anger. She grabbed him by his shirt, throwing him against the stair railing, which clattered noisily. He looked surprised at the force of it-- she’d never used so much energy against him before, not since the day they’d met.

“You fucker!” she spat with the utmost ire she could muster. “What did I fucking say, huh? We had this fucking conversation! Don’t you fucking mention my fucking deadbeat parents!”

Michael and Franklin came barging into the main hall instantly after hearing the commotion. “Hey, hey! Knock that shit off!” Michael barked, yanking Waverly off of Trevor, and Franklin stood with his hands outstretched towards Trevor, ready to hold him back if he needed to. “What the fuck is your guys’s deal?!” He struggled to hold Wave in his grip as she spat.

“The asshole won’t fucking leave the dead horse to die!” She exclaimed, thrashing against Michael. “He’s full of fucking shit, Michael! Goddamn it, I can’t deal with his fucking attitude!”

“You aren’t exactly a bowl of sunshine either, sweetheart,” Trevor told her, but with far less fury in his voice, even as he glared. “I can hardly stand to listen to your voice for twenty four fucking hours of the day.”

“Well fuck you, Trevor Philips!” She screamed, still fighting Michael’s grip. “Fuck you, and fuck your shitty little trailer, and fuck whatever demon-spawn raised your Satanic ass!”

He took a step forward, to which Franklin placed his hands on Trevor’s arms to stop his progression. At the same moment, a head of orange hair peered down the stairs, and a confused and concerned Jimmy walked in on a rather unsettling scene.

“Uncle T? Franklin? Dad? And, and… W-what are you fighting about? What’s the dilemma today?”

Michael looked up at Jimmy, realizing he was restraining a teenage girl, and how wrong that must have looked to his son. “Shit, Jim, this ain’t what it looks like--”

“Yeah, man,” Franklin added, “we cool, go chill in your room--”

“Who the fuck’s this asshole?” Wave inquired, looking back at Michael. Then, she looked up at Jimmy, and shouted, “Who the fuck are you?!”

Jimmy grew indignant, pointing at Wave through the railing. “Hey, if anything, I should be asking who the hell you are! You’re in my house! W-well, my dad’s house, but you’re still in my house!”

Wave resumed her struggling tenfold, trying to elbow Michael to get away, her death-glare now locked on Jimmy. Michael struggled to hold her in place, and was losing his grip.

Trevor, in response, looked only the slightest bit concerned-- he looked more thoughtful than anything else, even as Franklin left his side to help Michael. He watched as they started to lose their grip, watched as Jimmy retreated back up the stairs screaming, and decided what to do.

“Let… go… of…  _ me! _ ” Wave broke free from Michael and Franklin’s grasp, stumbling forward-- and directly into Trevor’s outstretched and waiting arms. Then, he wrapped his arms around her, and held her to himself, tightly. She struggled for only a second more, before realizing that he wasn’t even trying to hold her captive-- he was just… holding her. Gradually, she stopped struggling. Michael and Franklin stared, unsure of what to do as they looked on helplessly.

After a second, she spoke.

“Trevor? What… are you doing?”

“Restraining you,” he mumbled into the side of her head, as if it was a simple fact and she should have realized it herself.

“Uh… no?” She looked baffled by it all, and pushed feebly against his chest. “This is… you’re… what is this? What are you doing?”

Trevor then let her go, throwing his arms out and away, and took a few steps back.

“Nothing now,” he said slyly, grinning. “But what you just experienced, Waverly, is what is known as a ‘hug’. My mother use to give them to me all the time when I was younger to calm my more violent tendencies, until she decided that I was too old for hugs anymore. I figured, since you were going fucking anal on all of my friends, you needed to cool down. So, I subdued you, the only non-violent way I knew how.”

He smirked, and stepped around and past her, into the kitchen, while she and the other two stared in pure bewilderment.

Michael and Franklin slowly turned back around to face Wave.

“Are you alright?” Michael asked her.

Wave said nothing, only stepping around him to march into the kitchen. She pointed at Trevor as she struggled to speak.

“That was a hug?” She commanded to know. “That was a fucking hug?”

He shrugged as he poured himself a shot. “What, never been hugged before?”

“No,” she replied instantly. “No, I’ve never been fucking hugged.”

“Oh, fuck, you’re kidding!” Michael exclaimed as he joined them in the room, stepping past her to get at the drinks himself. “Very funny, Waverly.”

“I’m not fucking joking,” she spat at Michael before turning back to Trevor. “You gave me legitimate fucking human contact. You did something that isn’t going to leave any signs of physical harm. My question is, fucking why?”

Trevor smiled out of the corner of his eye, sipping on his drink.

“Even I know you can’t solve everything with violence. Sometimes, it takes a more… gentle approach.”

Wave shook her head. “No, no no no, no, you  _ hugged  _ me.”

“And?”

“It was…” She looked around the room-- all eyes were trained on her, and she felt self-conscious. “It didn’t hurt. I thought it was supposed to hurt.”

Trevor frowned, pushing himself away from the table.

Michael placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve seriously never had a fucking hug in your whole goddamn life?” The millionaire asked her. “Seriously?”

“I…” she frowned as she wracked her brain for answers she didn’t have. “I’m pretty sure, yeah.” Then, as an afterthought-- “I haven’t let anyone come even as close to me as you guys ever have. “But  _ you-- _ ” she pointed at Trevor. “-- you fucking  _ hugged me _ .”

Trevor looked baffled, looking around the room like he could find the words he wanted to say written on the walls, to no avail. What the hell did she want him to say? ‘Sorry?’

“Fuck, I mean…” Franklin stepped forward, looking extremely uncomfortable. “Shit, what kinda physical contact you been gettin’ your whole mother fuckin’ life?”

Wave gave him a look like he was speaking French. “What kind of contact do you think I was fucking getting? You think I turned out the way I am because I got hugged and loved? Put on your fucking glasses-- where I come from, everybody hates each other-- the closest to physical contact you’re ever going to get on the positive side is a fucking punch in the back. You don’t get hugged or kissed, you don’t get tucked in at night, there’s no one to bring you a fucking cup of water-- you’re on your own.”

She turned around without waiting for anything else to be said, snatching Trevor’s glass and downing the remainder in one gulp, before thrusting the empty cup back into his hands.

“I can’t fucking do this right now,” she muttered. She stormed past Trevor through the back door, and around the corner, most likely to sulk on one of the recliners outside. The men stared at where she had vanished, feeling rather uncomfortable with the entire situation.

Franklin held out his arms. “Bitch, what the actual fuck.”

“She’s…” Michael shook his head. “She’s definitely of another breed, I can tell you that much. Fuck, and I thought you and I had it bad, Trevor.”

Trevor rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah, we were absolutely  _ miserable _ .”

“I’m serious!” He countered.

“Look,” the Canadian said as he refilled his glass, “it’s what the kid chose.”

“It’s  _ not  _ what  _ Wave  _ chose,” the other man growled. “She can’t remember anything before she was thirteen, and now that she’s looking for a way out of her situation with those fucking Urban Tigers, all you seem to be able to do is continuously throw her under the bus for being in a situation she can’t get out of on her own!”

“Oh, so you think it’s our job? You think we’re supposed to be her fucking knights in shining armor? She’s an  _ asset,  _ Michael! An asset to Trevor Philips Industries, and she’s  _ mine  _ to do what I want with! As soon as her term of service is over, I don’t care what she does or where the fuck she goes, so long as it’s far a-fucking-way from me and my business!”

“Oh yeah?” Michael blurted. “Well it don’t seem that way from the way you were just holding her not two minutes ago!”

Trevor was stunned into momentary silence, eyes growing wide as he glared at Michael with bubbling fury. Franklin made the decision that it was time to step in before things exploded into a brawl, or worse.

“Now, hold on a fuckin’ minute now,” he said to the two of them, stepping between with arms outstretched. “We ain’t finna waste this day bickerin’ over shit that ain’t our fucking business in the first place! Look, Trevor got Wave’s crazy ass calmed the fuck down, we ain’t fuckin’ questioning his methods, a’right? We all know her situation bad, but unless she call us out for a solid, we ain’t gonna get in on her shit. Now why don’t we all chill out, an’ do what we came here to do in the first place?”

Even as Trevor simmered still, Michael nodded and sighed his agreement.

“You’re right, Frank, you’re right. Trevor, are you gonna go sulk somewhere, or are you going to grow up and celebrate like we came here to do in the first place?”

Trevor growled at Michael, marching backwards towards the back door. “I think the mood has been well-enough killed at this point without your continued intervention.” On a second thought, he returned to the kitchen counter and snatched the whole bottle before continuing to walk away.

“Yeah, whatever,” Michael shouted after him. “Go sulk with your protégé or whatever. Frank and I will be in here actually  _ enjoying  _ ourselves.”

Wave sat up at the sound of the back door slamming open and then shut, glass panes rattling with the force. When she saw it was Trevor, she frowned, and pulled the sunglasses she had back over her head.

“Oh, great, not you too,” Trevor moaned as he took the seat next to her. “Another fucker sulking away their sorrows in the sun that I gotta look after? No wonder our breed of criminal is fucked, we’re all wasting away under radiation.”

“I was  _ enjoying  _ the peace and quiet before you came along,” she balked at him. “Not the sun. I don’t exactly have the complexion to be out here for five fucking hours, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He patted her cheek with a hand, and she smacked him away as he chuckled and leaned back. “Well, in comes Trevor Philips to ruin your whole fuckin’ day, like I ruin everyone’s day.”

“Would you  _ stop  _ fuckin’ touching me?” she barked at him. “A hug’s enough physical contact from you for one lifetime, you disgusting ass.”

“Hey hey, show a little fucking gratitude, why don’t you? First hug in your life, that’s a milestone, make it something to cherish and celebrate, not something to be abhorred and tainted!” He seemed maybe even a little offended at her blatant rejection of his “affection”. 

Wave shook her head in response. “I never wanted it to be from you. I wanted it from somebody who actually gives a rat’s ass about me, like Michael or Franklin! Not some crusty-ass old Canadian motherfucker!”

That particular combination of words, under normal circumstances, would set Trevor off like a bottle-rocket, bouncing off the walls and hurtling into anything in the way. Now, he kept his temper surprisingly cool, taking an angry swig of his bottle. Still, the fact that she would have preferred Michael over him… that really made his blood boil. He was the one that took her off the streets and gave her a home, food, shelter-- why did she lean towards the fucking fatass? Sure, they had their disputes and tussles, but at the end of the day, Trevor was supposed to be her fucking sun and moon, right?

“Well,” he blurted out suddenly, “I would have rathered I hadn’t touched your stupid slutty body too!”

“Then we’re fucking even!” She screamed back at him. With a huff, she whirled her body around, sitting with her back to Trevor and her arms folded.

Trevor didn’t like that response. He roared in frustration as he set down the bottle and stumbled to his feet. “Aaarrgh, alright, alright, I’m fucking sorry! I didn’t mean it, alright? You’re not a slut, okay? You just-- you frustrate me, Waverly! Jesus, what the fuck do you want me to say, huh? What the fuck do you want me to fucking say?!”

“That it was a mistake!” Wave shouted. “That you didn’t mean to do it! Take it back, make it like it never happened!”

“It doesn’t fucking work like that, are you kidding me?!” Trevor stared at her with incredulous eyes. “You can’t just ‘take back’ a hug, that’s like taking back the first time you got fucking plowed into the sheets, saying something doesn’t make it so! Jesus, are you really this fucking dense?”

“Just  _ say  _ it, Trevor!”

For a moment, he paced and growled in confliction, staring at her back and length of long black hair. Why did she have to be such a fucking handful? He gave her everything she needed, so why was she such a pain in his ass all the time? What more did she want from him? He considered these things before calming himself enough to make a sensible decision. 

“I can’t… I can’t take back what’s already been done. But I can apologize. So, listen; I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Wave, for taking that from you. Alright? Are you fucking happy now?”

She joined him in silence for a long time, before turning her head just enough to lock eyes with him.

“Yes.”

“Good, fuck, finally,” and he stormed back to the house quickly in an attempt to get away from her. “Be ready to leave on my word, capiche?”

Wave blinked, before scoffing, tossing her head. “Yeah, whatever.” She stared after him until he disappeared back into the glass doors and out of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that evening, as Trevor and Wave were preparing to leave, Michael stopped Trevor at the door. He looked rather uncomfortable, and Trevor assumed that whatever he had to say, someone else had put him up to it.

"Hey... T," Michael began. "We... well, my family... We were going to go to the boardwalk later this week to chill at the Del Perro Pier. And, uh, we-- Amanda, really wants Waverly to go too. But, right now, you're kinda in charge of her... so it's up to you-- actually, you could come with us if you wanted, we... get discounts."

His stuttering was cringeworthy. He really looked like he wanted Trevor to say no, so just to spite him, Trevor smiled wide. 

"I'll take up your offer. You and me need some more one on one time together. We still have approximately nine lost years to make up for. So, hey! Why not!?" He redirected his attention towards Wave, who was getting into the truck, shouting at her. “Hey, asshole! We’re going to the Del Perro Pier later this week!”

“Whatever, Trevor.” Although her voice remained level, Wave’s grin broke wide, and was telling of how she really felt at this news. Trevor turned back to Michael, arms folded and looking rather smug. 

“Better warn your kids to keep their distance. I ain’t putting a fucking leash on her out there, so if they get on a wrong nerve--” He made a whistling sound, and used his hands to imitate a bomb landing and exploding, along with fake little screams of horror and pain. “Oh, oh no, oh, the humanity! Ahh…”

“Bah, fuck you. Yeah, I’ll make sure the kids know that your kid’s a fucking psycho--”

“Hey, hey! No, she’s not ‘my kid’, alright? She’s the fucking intern, the prisoner, she is not of my loins, Michael!” Trevor scowled at the older man. “Don’t let them think we’re related like that. Fuck, I’d rather have them think I’m her fucking sugar daddy than her fucking guardian. Alright?”

“Look,” Michael countered, “all I’m sayin’ is the relation is there, whether you admit it or not. I’m a dad, alright? I’ve got two assholes. I think I know a father-daughter relationship when I see it, no matter how fucked up it is. I won’t tell the kids that, but I see it, Trevor. Even if you don’t, I do.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, shut the fuck up,” Trevor waved him away, and stomped towards the car. “Your years in sunlit isolation have fucked with your perception of the world, so mind your own damn business, why don’t ya?”

Michael gave a little chuckle as he retreated back into the house. “Sure, T, sure.”

Trevor pulled himself into his Bodhi, looking behind him as he backed out of the driveway and onto the road. Wave looked behind her and watched the de Santa household disappear, and once out of view, she turned her attention back to Trevor.

“What were you guys talking about?” she inquired.

“Bullshit.”

Wave quirked an eyebrow. “Bullshit? What kind of bullshit?”

“Michael’s bullshit. You know how he is, damn it-- therapy this, psychiatry that, relationship blah blah blah, he thinks he can read me like a fucking book, but I’m more fucking complex than that. He thinks that I’m predictable and that all of my actions lead to one singularity in my personality.”

Wave scoffed. “He thinks you’re predictable? I find that hard to believe. But, then again, if what I’ve heard is true, the bastard’s known you upwards of twenty-five years now. Who’s to say he hasn’t actually found a pattern in your fucked up mindset?”

“Yeah, uh, no, I don’t think so.” Trevor rolled his eyes, though in his gut, he felt that he was denying something he shouldn’t have been. His heart hadn’t felt the same in recent days-- he felt different. He felt like something was trying to find a way into his thoughts and heart, and he was continuously doing everything in his power to lock it out, and keep it locked out. The only way to find out what it might be would be to let it in, and there was no way he was going to let that happen if he could ever help it. He already had too many weaknesses; Trevor truly felt that he couldn’t afford another one.

Wave snickered at Trevor. “I think you’re not as hardcore as you’d like to believe. I think that, somewhere deep beneath that scaly exterior you try so hard to uphold for the public eye, deep down, there’s something you’re trying to keep under lock and key.”

“And what the fuck do you think that is?”

“A heart. A soul. A part of you that actually gives a fuck about somebody, or something. I’ve seen the way you look at Michael when you aren’t raring to tear out his throat; there’s some deeper connection than just ‘old running buddy from back in the day.’”

“Of course there fucking is,” he snapped. “He’s my best friend. I’m not going to go all gooey on him because of it though. What, you think I’m gonna make doll eyes at him and beg him to play dress-up with me? It’s not that kind of friendship, you dumbass.”

“That’s not what I was implying in the first place.”

Trevor gave Waverly a sideways glare.

“And what exactly  _ were  _ you implying then, genius?”

“What do you  _ think  _ I was implying,  _ genius? _ ”

“Don’t you talk back to me, you little shit!” He found himself surprised at that particular word choice slipping from his lips, and desperately attempted to regain his normal speech pattern. “I want to fucking hear you say it, you fucker.”

“I think one of you,” she drew out slowly, “at  _ least  _ one of you, was suffering from a one-sided relationship sort of scenario. I’m not gonna point fingers, but I just feel in my gut that twenty-five years of knowing someone and doing those types of jobs, there’s some sort of deeper connection for at least one of you.”

Trevor inhaled deeply through his nostrils.

“Well, those days are over. Now, we’re just barely hanging on to the tattered shreds of what once was, and can never be again, because he fucked it up.”

“How?”

Trevor saw this as a way to maybe get Waverly back on his side, and away from Michael’s. He smirked to himself. She was his, after all. She wasn’t supposed to see Michael as her mentor and savior-- it was supposed to be Trevor. It was time he fixed that.

“Michael,” he told her confidently, “after a particularly big heist, faked his death, got one of our friends killed, and ran off with all of the take. I should have died, too, according to plan. But I didn’t. When I found out he was alive and well with his family rotting in Los Santos, I tracked him down, and re-asserted myself into a life I shouldn’t have been booted out of in the first place.”

“Bullshit,” she spat. “You wouldn’t have forgiven him if he’d done something like that.” Wave seemed incredulous that Trevor could come up with something like this in the first place.

“But I did,” he told her. “And so here we are. He hasn’t tried to kick me out again, so I assume things are as patched up as they’re ever going to get.”

Wave stared at Trevor with narrowed eyes. “You shouldn’t have come back to him. He’ll just fucking stab you in the back again, right?”

“I don’t think so. I think he’s worn himself out from years of wasting away under the sun and snapping at his children to get off their fat asses and do something with their life.”

“Well, Trevor, my fingers are fucking crossed for you, I guess. You poor, naive son of a bitch.”

“I know what I’m fucking doing, Waverly!”

“Do you?!” She whirled her body towards him. “Listen to me-- all this world is, is clinging on to the people that have the most use to you until they either turn their backs on you, or die and leave you to fend for yourself. Yeah, you might form attachments along the way, but it’s all just symbiotic relationships at the end of the day. The fact that you think your ‘friendship’ with Michael is any different makes me fucking sick and worried for your poor ass.”

“Oh yeah,” he snarled, wrapping a hand around her hair and tugging her head towards himself. “Well how many trusting relationships have you had over the past few fucking years, huh? How many Urban Tiger jockeys have stuck by your side through thick and thin, when the shit hit the fan, huh!? Michael may have left me for dead, but all the while, before and after that, he never left me on the field alone! Can you say that fucking much!?”

“Fuck you!” Waverly dug her fingernails into his arm, drawing blood in order to get away from his grip on her scalp. At last, he let go, but only so he could regain enough control of the truck to park it behind the Vanilla Unicorn.

“You get your fucking ass out of this truck right now!” He screamed at her, pointing towards the back door. Wave complied instantly, slamming the truck door behind her and storming into the Vanilla Unicorn.

Trevor seethed and raged, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white and his teeth made grinding sounds together. His heart ached even worse than before, and he felt sick again, much like the first night he’d found her half-dead in the ditch in front of his trailer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for not updating the past two evenings; I got hit by a wave of depression and a distinct lack of wanting to do anything, but I'm better now. Uploads should continue as planned.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific chapter warnings

"And girl," Tracey added, "you would not  _ believe  _ all of the cute boys that come through here! I mean, yeah, a lot of them have girls already, but,  _ hello!?  _ They're boys! They go running at the first sign of trouble, or a cuter girl!"

The de Santa family and Trevor and Wave were waiting patiently in line for tickets to the attractions at the Del Perro Pier, and the two de Santa children had started a conversation with a rather uninterested Waverly. Tracey had somehow gotten on the subject of how picking up boys at the pier was a piece of cake. The sun was beating down on them, though not harshly so-- winter was close at hand, anyways, and the weather always cooled to a comfortable, manageable degree during this time. 

Wave nodded, inwardly rolling her eyes. "Tracey, you sound like a heartbreaker."

The older girl put her hand to her chest, acting hurt. "Why, Wave, how could you ever say something so... so...  _ mean?!  _ I'm not a heartbreaker! I'm just the better, second option!"

"That sounds even worse."

"Oh, you  _ silly!  _ You know what I mean!"

"Uh, no, Tracey," Jimmy cut in. "She doesn't. All I hear coming out of your mouth is ' _ prostitute _ !'"

His sister stomped, now really offended. "Jimmy, shut the fuck up! You're not a girl, you wouldn't understand! Guys are finicky and are jumpers!"

"Look, I may hide out in my room all day, but, being a guy, I know I wouldn't leave a chick because of something stupid--"

"But that's how  _ all  _ guys are! I mean, look at dad!"

"Hey!" Wave commanded, suddenly regaining interest, "Don't you  _ dare _ bring Michael into this! Your father’s a fucking noble man, alright?" She was well aware of what he’d done after Trevor had clarified the whole Ludendorff incident to her just a week ago, but couldn’t find it in herself to distrust him, even after gaining that knowledge. “He’s bent over backwards for your fucking well-being, so don’t you dare throw him under your little stereotypical bus!”

Tracey frowned at Wave. “You know it’s true though! Mom’s caught him with all sorts of different girls all over him--”

“Because she won’t give him the fucking respect he deserves and needs,” Wave barked, “so he has to find someone else to give him the affection he’s missing!”

Meanwhile, Trevor, Amanda and Michael talked themselves, oblivious to their children's conversation, despite the rising volume. Trevor stood awkwardly across from Michael and Amanda, arms folded as he switched from one foot to the other.

"I really am happy you and Waverly could make it, Trevor!" Michael's wife exclaimed. "I was honestly afraid you were going to turn down our offer, but I’m glad you’re here now. That poor girl doesn't get enough time to just be a kid, from what little Michael has bothered to disclose to me. Especially not with  _ you two _ dragging her around everywhere on your illegal escapades." She eyed her husband coldly. He, in turn, raised his hands in self defense.

"Hey," Trevor said. "That's where she wants to be. If she wants to be somewhere else, she better fucking tell me. I'm not a fucking mind reader! If she wants to spend her days rotting away in the back of the strip club, then that’s fine by me, but she better fucking say something."

Amanda waved him away dismissively in an attempt to hide her fear. "You're right, Trevor, you're right. She's a big girl, she knows what she wants. If she wants to waste her life away in such a horrible manner, that's her choice. But for today, she's a teenage girl, not a full fledged criminal, okay?"

The two men shrugged uncomfortably. They didn't like to think of Wave that way. She was just another member of the crew, not some dainty little thing. To even think of her as a teenage girl for one moment didn’t feel like it did her justice. She was more than that, stronger than that.

Trevor glanced back at the kids, then did a double take. "Hey!" he yelled. "Waverly! What have I told you about kicking Jimmy in the balls!?"

Michael and Amanda joined Trevor in staring, and Michael snorted to try to contain his laughter. Amanda rushed over to help Jimmy back to his feet as he lay writhing in pain on the ground.

"He started it!" she shouted defensively, pointing at Jimmy as she seethed.

"No, I don't want any excuses! You apologize to him right now, and then you're gonna rub his balls later."

Michael leaned in and whispered something to him. A look of disgust crossed Trevor's face, and he quickly changed his past statement.

"Nevermind, just apologize."

The girl did as she was told, muttering a half-sincere ‘sorry’, then left the children's’ side to join the adults. The other two kids watched after her with apparent frowns as Jimmy finally made it back to his feet.

"I don't think they like me," she whispered to Trevor. Behind them, Jimmy and Tracey were doing whispering of their own, all the while with their gazes trained on her.

"Eh? Well, they're just as mean and vulgar as you... minus the heartless killing part. They shouldn't hate you." He shrugged it off, before she grabbed his arm to get his attention again.

"I never said hate, just don't like."

Trevor shook her off, staring for a moment where her hand had been, before shaking his head. "Whatever, you're fine. I've known those kids since they were shitting in diapers. They'll warm up to you. If they can like me-"

"T, you're up!" Michael shouted. He waved his arms to get the sociopath’s attention.

"Huh? Oh, right. Come on, kid." He snatched Wave by her upper arm and walked up to the ticket booth. He ordered two all day passes for him and Wave and watched as the cashier prepared two wrist bands.

"Give me your arm, honey," the cashier said.

Wave stepped back, finally looking at the cashier after staring bitterly at Tracey and Jimmy. "Why?" It came out defensive, snapped like a bad habit.

"You need to wear this wristband so we know that you purchased a ticket into the park, or else you can't go in." the cashier clarified, keeping her patience even as Wave snapped.

Wave looked like she wanted to jump in there and strangle the booth operator, but a warning squeeze from Trevor blew away those thoughts in a puff of smoke. She averted her gaze, and hurriedly thrust her right arm towards the woman.

Trevor and the cashier raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. The cashier took her hand, wrapping the small red paper band around it. No sooner had she finished, Wave yanked her arm back, holding it to her body as if it had been a second away from being amputated. Trevor rolled his eyes and allowed the cashier to put on his band without complaint or struggle. As the two of them walked away, he pulled Wave to the side. “The fuck was that about?”

She yanked herself away from him, shaking with poorly pent-up rage. “I don’t  _ appreciate  _ being touched without my  _ consent _ , Trevor.”

“Bullshit, I’m yanking you around all the time, what makes this different?”

“I don’t  _ fucking _ \--” Waverly took a deep breath, calming herself. “Can we  _ not  _ fucking fight today, Philips? We got invited here, we’re supposed to fucking behave.”

Trevor took his arms off of her, and they walked back towards Michael. “Fine, fine, whatever. We’ll ‘behave’, whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.”

The two families entered the park, Michael's children running ahead to get as far away as they could from their ‘oppressive’ parents. Michael clearly couldn’t have cared less, but Amanda was already ready to burst an artery.

"Kids!" Amanda yelled. “Let me give you some money first! Jimmy, get back here right now! Tracey!..." She chased after them, jogging to catch up once they finally stopped, realizing they were getting free money to spend.

Michael and Trevor chuckled, amused at the sight. They walked along slowly, absorbing the excitement and joy in the air.

"How long's it been since you’ve been here of your own will?" Trevor asked.

"Oh, I dunno... I think I raced Jimmy on a bike or something? Well, whatever. It was Amanda's idea to come here anyways. She wanted to do something as a family, or at least something with me, so she thought, ‘hey, let’s let the kids tag along’. Then she remembered Wave, and told me to invite you."

Trevor smirked as he remembered the last time he’d been to the pier. "I came here to snipe that one bastard from the FIB... damn, can't even remember his name. It was like, Hank, or something."

"Steve Haines,” Michael clarified for him, snickering. “Just goes to show how little you care. You kill someone and then you forget about it the next day after a couple cold ones."

"Hey, he was a douche! There's a difference! A subtle one, yes, but he wasn’t worth remembering in the first place. I didn’t think...?"

Trevor stopped short, looking back in the direction they came once he realized someone was missing. Michael did too. Waverly was still standing stiffly at the entrance. From where the men were, they could tell she was hyperventilating.

"Wait here," Trevor commanded. He ran back to her, kneeling in front of her, and clutched her arms.

"Alright, what’s the fucking problem?"

She looked at him shakily, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She clutched his arms, and hoarsely breathed:

"So... so many people... so big... I can't- I just..." Her breath wavered and gasped. There it was again-- that ache in his heart he’d been feeling far more often than he was alright with. She was the cause of it, but what was it? He ignored it to the best of his ability.

Michael joined them moments later, despite Trevor’s command that he stay put. "Wave, you alright?"

"She has claustrophobia," Trevor told him quietly. "We need to get her out of the crowd."

The pier was busier than it would have normally been-- maybe Michael’s family wasn’t the only one that got discounts today. Even Trevor found himself feeling rather uncomfortable with the sheer number of people walking around them. Trevor glanced around after standing up, looking for a more open space, and once he found it, pointed it out to Michael.

“Start walking,” he commanded. “We’ll be right behind you.” Trevor then turned back around to Wave and motioned her to follow. "Come on, Wave, we'll get you out of this."

"T-t-trev-vor..."

He gulped, and statched up her wrist, forcing her left hand into his own. Her warmth radiated up his arm like a jolt of electricity. "Take my hand and hold on tight. I...  _ promise...  _ I won't let go, okay?"

Her sweaty palm clutched his so tightly, he heard some fingers pop.

"It's just one foot after the other," Michael reminded her.

"I know!... I know how- how to fucking walk..."

Each time they were bumped or jostled, Wave whimpered and clutched her left arm tightly, right where the scar she was so defensive over was. She still hadn’t explained what it was to Trevor, even when he asked. Honestly, it didn’t seem to him like she even knew. Trevor did most of the walking, dragging her along as gently and quickly as he could. When they finally made it to the tables he’d spotted, Trevor and her sat down, and Michael left to get her a drink. Her breathing gradually returned to normal now that there were less people around them.

"Damnit, Wave!" Trevor sneered. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me you’re a fucking pussy?"

"I- I didn't kn-know! I didn’t fucking know! Fuck you!" If she had the energy, she clearly would have hit him, but at the moment, she was still shaking like a leaf, simply relieved to be out of the thick crowd of people. Trevor softened at the sight. He took her hand gently, and she didn’t pull away. ‘ _Of course,_ ’ he realized. ‘ _She's been in that hellhole her whole life. She's never been somewhere like here before._ ’

Trevor kept his calm demeanor even as she broke down, and soon enough, the other man came back with a tall cold cup of water, and ordered the girl to drink up. She did without hesitation.

"Listen kid," Trevor began. "I'm not about to let forty-five dollars go to waste. I need you to try to fucking grow a pair and not be such a little sissy, alright? Look, I promise that, even when things get tight, I'll be right next to you. I ain’t goin’ fuckin’ nowhere. We can stay close to Mikey and his family too."

"Trevor, don't make her do something she doesn't want to do," Michael said to him. “If she ain’t comfortable with this shit, then we can’t make her stay. She won’t have any fun--”

"Michael, she doesn’t know what fun is!"

Several people looked in their direction at the disturbance, then briskly walked on.

"Trevor, calm down, okay? I was like this when I was a kid too, but kinda the opposite. My problem was that I hated to be left alone, so I would  _ try _ to surround myself. I eventually grew out of it, but maybe Wave needs a little more time. She might grow out of her claustrophobia, she may not. It’s not something your can fucking force though! Go on, ask her what  _ she  _ wants to do for once!"

The two men looked at each other. Trevor closed his eyes and sighed, then looked back to the girl. She wouldn't make eye contact with him, head dropped and hanging to the left.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" he mumbled.

"Why do you care?" she snapped. "You're Trevor Philips. You don't care about anyone but yourself, or your fucking business. I’m just the fucking ‘intern’, right? I don’t mean jack shit to you, so stop pretending you care."

Her words stung like dried ice, and he cringed at the sound of the ire in her voice. She was wrong-- she did mean something to him. What it was exactly, he wasn’t certain, but he knew that if she were to leave him now, he’d definitely notice if she was gone. How was he supposed to let her know that he actually enjoyed her company now? He wasn’t doing a good job of it right now. Michael understand his fucked-up body language, understood when Trevor was happy to have him around or not, even if his words said otherwise. Wave was different. He would have to be honest with her. He would have to be  _ verbal _ .

In his brain, he dusted off an old key, and unlocked a chest of emotions and feelings that he had locked away for years.

"I care... because I don't want you to have the same childhood I did."

Both of the other criminals looked at him with shock. Trevor Philips said something selfless. Not only that, but it was obvious that he meant it. He wouldn't make eye contact with them, and his cheeks had turned a shade of bright pink. Waverly and Michael exchanged glances, before she spoke up. “You’re going fucking soft, asshole,” she teased.

“Go fuck yourself, alright?” Trevor snapped, but there was no energy in it. “I mean it. I never got to do shit like this because I wasn’t given the choice. I want to give you the choice, I guess.”

Wave nodded to herself, something unspoken being confirmed in her mind. Then, she replied, "I'll, well... I've been through worse. Effortlessly. Why should this get the best of me? But..."

Trevor nodded understandingly. "If it gets to be too much..."

The rest went without saying. He helped her to her feet, along with Michael.

“Are you going to behave now?” Michael asked the two of them as a group.

“Yeah, whatever,” they replied simultaneously. Michael let out an incredulous laugh at that, looking around.

“We’ll find places that are less dense, hang around there in intervals so you don’t get overwhelmed, alright kid? We’ll take care of ya, and if you can’t do it, there’s no shame in backing out. A phobia’s a phobia, not much you can do about that. I get it.”

Waverly nodded her thanks. As they headed into the crowds again together, her hand found its way around Trevor’s again. Reluctantly, he allowed it to stay there.

 

* * *

 

 

The lines were worth the wait, they all decided, especially with Waverly's strained, yet somewhat sincere amusement and wonder. As the day dragged on, she became more and more at ease with the large, crowded surroundings, and more and more excited to be there. Trevor knew that she was becoming quickly drained, despite her excitement, and kept a careful eye on her for any signs of fatigue or desire to leave. She showed none, and whenever she looked as if she would finally collapse from exhaustion or fear, she just grasped his hand again, and her energy seemed to return somehow. Each time, she held him tighter than the last.

Her first time trying cotton candy was hilarious to all of them. She didn't know you could touch it with your hands, so she tried to stuff the entire tip in her mouth. Everyone laughed, causing her to pout, but after the other kids showed her how it was done, she enjoyed the sweet treat wholeheartedly.

The games really had Trevor and Wave's attention, who were always trying to sabotage one another somehow. Shoving, punching and pinching were all on the agenda, and they reveled in it. For once, their attacks weren’t purposefully to injure or to cause harm, only to annoy and ruin concentration.

Wave and Trevor both shouted relentlessly at the animals on display when there wasn't anyone paying attention. The lion ended their fun when it ran up to the gate and tried to eat their face. They were both startled, but laughed hard for a long time.

Sometime later in the evening, the group split ways for a while. Trevor and Wave used the time to return to the games, seeing as they hadn’t had a chance to play them all earlier. Trevor was having way too much fun trying to dominate over her in all the games. While they were walking along the games that offered prizes, Wave gasped loudly and pointed excitedly, unable to properly form words.

"What? What is it, girl?" Trevor chanted, treating her like a dog. When he saw where she was pointing, he gasped too.

"Jesus Christ, Lord Almighty, it’s a giant Impotent Rage plush!"

It was never an option to begin with once they set eyes on the life-sized doll. They had to win it. Or, they could just kill for it, but that'd cut their fun short. They had to pop fifty balloons tacked onto walls to win it. Aiming with the darts was not a problem for them, but getting the needle in was, as the darts would dip to a point where they wouldn't penetrate anymore. After a few games, and some hundred bucks, the two players were victorious, raising their prize and shouting maniacally.

Trevor taunted the booth keeper, who didn't think they could do it. "In. Your. Face! I got Impotent Rage, I got Impotent Rage~..."

"Oh, what's that?!" Wave added. "’It’s impossible'!? Impossible my  _ ass _ ! Here, little birdie, you want a perch!?" She flipped him off, smiling broadly.

Trevor darted off, and Wave scurried to follow him, not wanting to be left behind. The two were bursting with energy, chasing each other down the docks as fast as their legs would carry them. Michael and Amanda gazed after them with wonder once they were within sight. Amanda was just as confused at the sight as Michael.

"Who would have thought that Trevor could get so attached to someone just as mean as him?" Michael asked. "I thought it was opposites who were supposed to attract?"

"Trevor knows loyalty, not attachment," Amanda pointed out. "He's never really loved anyone! Not sanely, at least. You're getting the two words mixed up, Michael."

He shrugged. "I guess, but sometimes... sometimes I worry about that girl. She's cocky. She's been on T's bad side before, but it's even worse once he knows you. You betray him, he doesn’t let that shit go. Trust me, I know. I have no doubt that she'll slip up, and then... what? That'll be up to Trevor. And  _ that’s  _ what worries me."

“Hhm,” Amanda hummed. “So, what, the blatant abuse and manipulation means nothing to you? Trevor is clearly all Wave has ever known in terms of a positive authoritative figure, and you and I both very well know that  _ nothing  _ about Trevor is positive. And yet, when he’s not looking, she gets fucking stars in her eyes! Isn’t that the littlest bit concerning to you, Michael?”

“No no, I agree, that’s a problem too, but it’s not our main concern. If shit  _ really  _ hits the fan between them… we’re going to lose one of them. If they really get in a big fight, they’re going to literally kill each other. The abuse-- and don’t take this the wrong way-- the abuse is  _ fine,  _ so long as he don’t kill her. There’s nothing we can do about that right now. But we got to make sure they stay on each other’s good side, for the most part.”

“That’s  _ our  _ job?” Amanda inquired, sounding skeptical. “We have enough trouble as it is keeping our own family in one piece. You really think we can take on Trevor and his girl, too?”

“Baby,” Michael pleaded with his wife, “we gotta try. For the kid’s sake.”

Down the dock, the two criminals yelled and hollered at everything in sight, smiling and shoving each other. On one particularly hard shove, Wave almost toppled over the railing, and she frowned at Trevor.

"You stupid fuck, you're gonna make me fall in!" she yelled. "I can't swim!"

"Then I'll get you!" he replied. "What, you don't trust me?!"

"Trevor, I trust you about as far as I can throw you!"

"Bullshit, you like me more than that!" He accused. His gaze shot up to the sky, and he smiled. "Oh, look over there!" he shouted, pointing to the sunset.

"Where? Where!? I don't see anything!"

"Right there, you dumb fuck!" He grasped her head roughly, yanking her gaze in the correct direction. At last, she realized what he was pointing at. Above the pier, clouds in thin strips painted the sky in warm colors. The purple hues blended in with the pink hues, and the sky looked like a mattress in the way that the clouds were aligned. The last of the sun caused the ocean to glitter brightly, like glass, and behind them, the moon shone brightly.

As Trevor stood here with Wave, he realized that it wasn't that bad to actually care about other people again. He’d lost that feeling when he’d discovered Michael’s betrayal, but slowly, those feelings were creeping back into his heart and soul. It actually felt... kind of nice. Soothing. Like you weren't alone in the world. That was a feeling he’d long forgotten over the course of a year, but now that they were flooding back into his senses, he found his carefully guarded walls falling yet again, and found that he minded rather little.

He looked down at the little rebel, who had taken a seat on the planks, smiling into the sun. Her long hair flowed behind her, and she held on to Impotent Rage tightly. Her blue eyes found his brown, and she gave him a crooked smirk.

And that's when Trevor decided he really,  _ really  _ liked sunsets.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific chapter warnings

Trevor carried a sleeping Waverly gingerly through the door of the Vanilla Unicorn, caressing her hair with his breath. The stupid little shit just looked too peaceful to be disturbed when they made it back to the strip club, so he decided, against his better judgement, not to wake her up. Once inside the back room, he was careful not to touch personal, delicate parts of her body as he stripped her of her pants and shirt, and laid her on the cot in front of the computer desk. He covered her with her blanket, and made sure she was snug before going back out to the truck to get the Impotent Rage plush. After he laid the plush next to her, he sat at the desk in front of the computer, and took another sip of his beer.

The day had been great, and everyone felt closer in a strange, but usual, fucked up way. Michael's kids still weren't sure what to think of Wave, but they did seem comfortable enough to interact with her, so that was a good thing. Michael and Trevor themselves had gotten along great for once, purposefully attempting to get along. Wave had finally had the day she had needed her whole life, the carefree sort of air that she never seemed to be able to experience. Trevor, personally, was glad that he could be a part of it. The kid was endearing, at best, when she wasn’t pointing a weapon at Trevor’s head.

The girl's hair folded gently over her shoulder and onto her pale hand. Her chest lifted and fell with her breathing. He couldn’t help himself-- Trevor caught himself staring, and tore his gaze away with a soft growl. But no matter what he tried, his eyes always trailed back to her sleeping form. That ache in his heart returned tenfold, something about her laying there, so defenseless and trusting, truly testing his emotions and feelings. He found himself wanting to pick Wave up again, like how he’d carried her through the door moments ago-- or was it an hour? Two?-- and simply holding her, in his arms, as she slept.

Trevor stayed awake for the next three hours, too wound up with energy and confusion in his heart to fall asleep. His mind was awhirl in thought about the teen sleeping across from him. Three months ago, Trevor would have shot this monster in a heartbeat. Someone so selfish doesn't deserve to live. Two months ago, Trevor would have glanced at the kid and shrugged. Nothing special. Wave would have been just another person he knew, among several. One month ago, he would have seen her as a member of his posse. An equal, you could say, both in mind and body.

And now?

That was the problem. Trevor didn't know what to think. She was more to him than just a friend. What was the word for this? Is this what people called the Friend zone? What did he want from her? Well, it was something. But did it have a word? He shook his head in frustration, trying his best not to make a sound of discontent. Wave was a piece of work, that was for sure, and he couldn’t figure out the puzzle she had laid out before him. Where were the answers?  Where was she  _ hiding  _ the answers? And why did his heart feel this way, have this strange sort of tugging pain, when he looked at her? What did she  _ want _ ?!

Wave stirred in her sleep, catching Trevor's eye and heart. She was just so... complicated. A work of art. Almost everything she did was amazing. Trevor was beginning to believe she had been made just for him. He fought and warred with himself to try to combat these thoughts and feelings, but clearly, to no avail. She was finding her way into his heart, whether she, or he, liked it or not. He found himself wanting to do everything in his power to keep her in his life, regardless of the consequences. She was the person that had come closest to understanding him in years, and now, with reports of a ‘long, blacked haired vigilante’ dying down, it was almost time to let her go, as he’d promised her. But letting her go… was slowly not becoming an option to Trevor. He couldn’t let her go. No, he decided; she belonged here, with him. Off of the streets, away from the Urban Tigers, undoubtedly still hunting her down, away from the world.

She was  _ his _ . She  _ belonged  _ to him, him, and only him.

He leaned back in his chair, sighing loudly.

Still, it was obvious that she still had at least a  _ slight _ interest in finding out who her parents were, despite what she told him and Michael. She would see kids walking along with their parents, gazing after them with narrowed eyes. The closest thing she had ever had, or remembered of a mother, was the ever mysterious and threatening Beverley; it was clear that she was genuinely curious as to what motherly affection was  _ supposed  _ to be.

Trevor sighed quietly, and stood. He didn't want to have to explain why he was watching her sleep if she woke up-- no doubt she would wrap her hands around his throat if he so much as walked past her the wrong way. So, he stuck his beer in the fridge, yawned, and went to his own sleeping place, the couch. After he undressed, he lay on the stinking cushions, thinking to himself.

The first thing that came to his mind was his curiosity as to why Wave was so against people touching her left arm. He was also curious about the scar. Hell, she didn't even know the answers. But, clearly, after drilling her so many times for the answers, she obviously didn't  _ want _ to find out. Perhaps, though she had lost her memories, the feelings and connotations of situations remained implanted in her mind. And, well, scars aren't exactly happy memories. Trevor could understand that much through his twisted mind. Then, there was the newly developed issue of her claustrophobia. For someone so brave and daring, it was odd that she could be bested by such a common fear. He had tried to touch on this topic on their way home from the boardwalk, but due to her tiredness and lack of knowledge of her own past, they didn't get anywhere. But who was Trevor to judge her? He was afraid of his own mother, which a lot of the population would find silly.

He shrugged to himself. Perhaps some things just weren’t meant to be discovered. She’d left behind whatever life she’d lead before that fateful day Beverley picked her up, and now, she’d abandoned her life with Beverley in favor of a life with Trevor. She likely thought it was still a temporary scenario, but he’d made up his mind. Waverly wasn’t going anywhere. 

Drunk, tired, and satisfied, Trevor closed his eyes. These thoughts could wait. Besides, why ruin such a happy day with so much thinking?

He was just about to slip into sleep, when he heard her shout out.

Trevor looked at her, and frowned deeply as her body convulsed once, then went still. Another night terror. They were growing more and more common. She never spoke in her sleep; he couldn’t begin to guess what was troubling her in her dreams, and she refused to speak about it. Right now, he really just wanted to sleep, and considered smashing a bottle on her head to get her to shut up. But that wouldn’t fix the problem. No-- he needed to bring back his Yankton days with Michael, and re-use some actual therapeutic techniques.

Her head was close enough that he could reach out with his right hand, and he placed it on her forehead. She flinched, screaming again and gripping the flimsy sheets tight enough to make yet another tear in them. Wave’s body shook with chill and fever, tremors rocking her entire figure. The heat on her forehead from Trevor’s palm took effect within a few minutes, and, slowly, her sweating body stilled, and her yelling ceased. She returned to the deepest reaches of sleep, where no dream could touch her.

Trevor brought his hand back to his chest.

He didn’t sleep the rest of the night, watching and waiting for the next round of nightmares to plague her.

 

* * *

 

 

When Waverly woke up the next morning, the club was empty. Not even Trevor was there. 

She sat up in a rush, ignoring the spots that danced in her vision from doing so too quickly, head yanking around from side to side. Trevor wasn’t there. Trevor wasn’t there, and the strip club was empty, and soundless.

In her rush to get out of her bed, the sheets tangled around Waverly’s feet, causing her to crash to the floor. She didn’t wait to be untangled, instead thrashing around until they ripped to shreds, and she was free.

“Trevor,” she shouted to the empty club, “this isn’t fucking funny, where are you?”

Clad only in her undershirt and boxer shorts (which she preferred over women’s underwear any day), she padded out into the bar. Not a soul in sight, despite all of the lights being on. The air conditioning kicked in as she walked past the pole at the center of the room, and a rustling caught her attention. Her gaze snapped up, and she found a piece of paper taped to the metal bar.

It was a note from Trevor-- she knew it was due to the poor spelling and grammatical errors-- saying he was going hunting with Franklin, and to help herself to whatever she wanted, that he hadn’t bothered to wake her since she’d had such a frantic day and needed her rest. “Dont burn down my fuking club. --T.”

When she finished reading the note, she dropped it like it was contaminated. Trevor had left her alone. For the first time in three months, maybe more, Waverly was all alone.

It was her chance. Her chance to escape. To get the hell out of here, away from him, and go… where? Where could she go? The Child Protection Agency? Beverley would track her down in a heartbeat, and if not that, then she’d be sent to a real family-- but not hers. She would be miserable, trapped in a life that forced her into societal norms, and honest to God, she could  _ not  _ handle that. Setting out on her own would be dangerous, and downright stupid. She was tough, and had her wits, but how long could she last without a stable place to live, access to medical care, among other things you could really only get if the government knew  _ exactly  _ who you were?

She knew she couldn’t leave. At the very least, not yet. Besides, she didn’t need Trevor tracking her down and giving her the beat down of a lifetime.

Perhaps, she reasoned with herself, it would be best if she were to stick around. Just a little while longer. It couldn’t hurt, right?

Wave looked around the empty strip club, and smirked. The club was closed, and it was all hers. So many things she could do… but what? Nothing came to mind, and her smile fell.

“Well, fuck this,” she muttered to herself, and retreated back into the manager’s office.

 

* * *

 

 

Franklin shot down another buck, the bullet passing comfortably right through its cranium, and at last replied to Trevor’s insane suggestion. "An’ you really think that’s a fuckin’ possibility? T, a lot of fuckin’ crazy shit goes through that skull of yours, but this one's really out there, man. What makes you think Lester'll even wanna help ya do it? We both know you resolve ain’t gonna last long. It’s a huge fuckin’ responsibility!"

Trevor marched over to the fallen creature, and snapped a picture for Cletus to see, awaiting his verdict on the approximate price of the kill. "Franklin, for once in your relatively short life, give me a chance! I've never been so sure about anything in my life! Not my decision to smoke crack, not my decision to become an official criminal, nothing!" Trevor pranced wildly around his friend, excited beyond words.

Franklin shook his head around a skeptical smile. "Dude, if you wanna do that shit, that's fine with me, but it'll be real fuckin’ expensive!"

"I have money! Lots of it! That shouldn’t even be a question, ever."

"It'll be a lot of high maintenance." Franklin argued again.

"I had a dog once."

In exasperation, Franklin let his sniper rifle swing loosely by his side. "This ain't anywhere near that! You think somethin’ of this caliber is relatable to a fuckin’  _ dog? _ "

"Franklin, come on!" Trevor exclaimed. "Back me up on this! I thought home boys were suppose to have each other’s back through thick and thin, regardless of how ridiculous the decision! I want an answer! This is a matter of life and death! Everything depends on this!"

Franklin threw his hands up in defeat. "Argh!  _ Fine _ ! Because your ass is too fuckin' lazy to do it, I'll ask Lester to look at a few houses for you in the hills, spread your name in good hands. Why the fuck you wanna live in fancy houses like the rest of us all a sudden is beyond me, but whatever, dog."

"Yes! Oh, thank you so much!"

In his excitement, he pecked Franklin on the cheek, who recoiled in horror, then jogged over to his truck, hopping in and smirking.

“Kid’s gonna be excited,” he shouted to Franklin, who just smiled in response. “The fancy house she always wanted, the American dream handed to her right on a silver platter. Ain’t no way she’s gonna be begging to leave now.”

With a hearty chuckle, Trevor started the engine, and pulled back onto the main road. His plan to keep Waverly from ever even  _ dreaming  _ about leaving was all coming together.

 

* * *

 

 

Michael looked out his balcony window with his glass of scotch and watched as two fire trucks whizzed by from the nearest station, sirens blaring. He took a sip nonchalantly. He could see the smoke, but as long as the fire wasn't near him, he didn't care. It’d started up about a half hour ago, and responders had been slow to send out a dispatch to look into the problem. Undoubtedly whatever building had caught ablaze was crumbling to the ground as he thought about it.

His wife emerged from the bathroom, makeup successfully applied. She was going to make her way downstairs, before she noticed Michael staring to the south. "What are you looking at, Michael?" she inquired.

"Hm? Oh, just a fire."

Her curiosity piqued, Amanda redirected her course to stand next to Michael, craning her head to find where he was looking. "Where?"

Michael pointed it out to her with his free hand. "South. We'll be fine. Fire don’t spread like it did back in Yankton trailer parks, everything's either concrete or metal. It ain’t makin’ its way up here."

"What about Trevor? Doesn't he live down that way?" Amanda peeled herself away from the balcony and opened an app on her phone. “I’m going to see where exactly this fire’s at. Yes, Michael; there’s an app for that, don’t bother asking.” After a second of waiting for the page to load, she gave a small gasp. “It’s the strip club that caught on fire! That’s where he’s parked his ass, isn’t it? That’s what Tracey told me.”

"Shit, you’re kidding?” Michael joined Amanda’s side to peer over her shoulder to confirm it for himself. “Shit, I wonder if T knows? Well, he went hunting with Frank, so if the Unicorn does burn down, it shouldn't be a problem. He ain’t even there. Yeah, he’ll throw a fit, but he’ll be fine."

“Hunting? I didn’t think Trevor actually participated in  _ normal  _ recreational practices.” Amanda shrugged her shoulders as she continued scrolling through her phone. Then, a thought crossed her mind.

“Did he take Wave with him?”

A look of horror twisted his face painfully. He turned quickly, staring Amanda dead in the eye. “What?”

“Did he take Wave? Or…” Amanda stood up quickly. “Michael, did Wave go with him?”

“Shit, shit!” he cussed, running down the stairs. “I gotta go make sure!”

“I’m coming with you,” Amanda exclaimed. “Trevor probably doesn’t even know. Fuck, Michael, hurry!”

Meanwhile, Trevor drove in and around lanes that were congested, gripping the wheel tightly. Scratches and dents dotted the beloved Bodhi from traffic he hadn’t quite managed to miss, but he couldn’t afford to care about that right now. He turned up the volume to his radio, listening intently.

" _... but even though it is obvious the blaze was started intentionally, it is still not clear as to the cause of this fire. Firefighters are doing their best to battle the flames and prevent them from spreading to other establishments." _

"Wave, you better not be fucking dead when I get there!" he seethed, gripping the steering wheel like a vice and gritting his teeth together. He’d seen the flames from afar, thinking nothing of them, but as soon as he flipped on the radio, that was all there was to hear; ‘Fire at the Vanilla Unicorn.’

Within a few more minutes, Trevor arrived at the scene, multiple fire trucks present battling the flames to the best of their ability.

"Waverly!" Trevor shouted as he ran from his truck. "Holy fuck...  _ Wave _ !"

He hadn't realized the flames would be so massive at this point. This fire was definitely man made. Whoever had done this was going to pay, with blood and bullets. But right now, Wave was in there. He had to think of the situation at hand, not his revenge plan. There was no way she would have gotten out, and if she had, he would have seen her by now. He had to get in there and save her, if it was the last thing he did. He bolted past the firemen who told him to stay back, past the firemen who were actually working on containing the flames, and dived straight into the club through the charred remains of the front door. Michael and his family arrived seconds after, just in time to see his brainless act.

"Oh my god!" Amanda screamed. “That was him! Trevor!”

"Dad, is Wave really in there?!" Jimmy asked worriedly.

"Kids, stay in the car," he demanded as he himself exited.

 

* * *

 

 

" _ Waverly _ !" He did his best to make his voice heard over the sound of the crackling flames and falling support beams, but it was difficult to shout at such a loud volume and be able to get enough oxygen after for another shout. Trevor picked his way through the rubble carefully, shouting again, until he got a response.

"Hello? Trevor?!" Her voice sounded tiny, far away.

"Kid! Wave!?"

There was a distant sob of relief. "Trevor, I’m stuck!"

His heart thudded powerfully against his ribcage, knowing that Waverly was still alive, but trapped somewhere in the building. "Hold on, I’m…” He coughed loudly, the smoke beginning to fill his lungs. “I’m coming! Stay put!"

Each and every individual flame tried to envelope Trevor whole, licking at his back and ankles as he tried to pick out where Wave was, and how he could get to her. Luckily, he didn’t have to wonder long.

"Trevor! I’m-I’m in the... the DJ booth!"

He burst through the flaming door, shattering the wooden frame to splitters and embers. She was there in the far corner, leaning back from a flaming beam that had fallen down and was blocking her every chance to escape. Tears were streaming down her soot-stained face as she reached out to him.

"Trevor!" She sounded relieved and terrified of him, all at the same time. He jutted out his hand towards her.

"Take my hand and I'll pull you over!" Trevor shouted.

"Are you fucking _ insane _ !?" she screamed. "I'll get burnt!"

"Not if I pull you fast enough!" he argued. A wall crumbled somewhere behind them, and the flames burned up even higher and hotter. She shook her head, choking.

"I can’t fucking do it!"

"Yes, you fucking can!"

Another beam fell, spreading embers and smoke. They both yelped in surprise and pain at the sudden heat. He held out his hand again, panic beginning to take hold. If he couldn’t get her out of there  _ soon _ , they were both going to be killed by the collapsing roof before the fire could ever really touch them.

"Take my  _ fucking hand, Wave _ !"

She screamed out against the wall she was backed into. "How can I trust you!?"

Trevor held his ground, baring his teeth against the heat.

"Have I ever--  _ ever _ \-- let you down before?!"

Wave said nothing, glance darting between his face and his hand. At last, she closed her eyes tightly, and thrust her hand in his general direction. He grasped her wrist with all the strength he had and, when she jumped, he yanked her into his arms. The two of them tumbled onto their backs, and a moment later, the spot where Wave had just been was covered by more collapsing ceiling.

"Get up, you fuck!" he yelled. “Come on!”

He took her hand in his, forcing her to her feet and trekking through the smoke and fire as quickly as he could. Halfway on their way out, another beam fell in front of them. It spread ashes and embers everywhere, the heat alone nearly blinding the two. They shielded their eyes against the flying particles until it was safe to see again.

Trevor roared like a mighty beast, and picked up Waverly like she weighed nothing. The room was nearly pitch black from all the smoke, but Trevor could still see the bit of sunlight from a collapsed wall. He ran at lightning speed toward the light, yelling and coughing like mad.

 

* * *

 

 

"Get someone fucking  _ in there _ !" Michael yelled, shoving one of the firemen holding him back from running into the burning building himself. He’d been fighting with them the moment Trevor vanished into the smoke and flames, trying to get in there himself to help. The firemen were about ready to get the police involved with this, when suddenly, a man burst from a collapsed wall, a sick child in his arms. Trevor skidded to his knees, Wave tumbling out of his grasp.

"Trevor!" Michael ran to his old friend, and the rest of his family emerged from the car too.

"She's not breathing!" Trevor panicked. "She's not breathing!" Wave lay coughing uncontrollably beneath him, eyes glazing over as she lost more and more air by the second.

"First aid!" Amanda called. "Someone!"

The firemen rushed to Trevor's position, oxygen tank at the ready. They placed the mask over the girl and waited for her breathing to return to normal. A female took her hand and coaxed her calmly to breathe.

"She's fine!” Trevor exclaimed to them. “She's alive, she's going to be fine! Oh, Wave! Waverly, my..."

He sat back on his knees, gasping for breath as he breathlessly sobbed with relief and laughed his typical laugh, all at the same time. Michael, in a fit of relief, flung his arms around Trevor, and the younger man hugged him back as they rocked.

“You fucking idiot,” Michael chastised, “you could have gotten yourself fucking killed in there! What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I couldn’t…” Trevor swallowed. “I couldn’t leave her, Michael. I couldn’t let her-- she needed me, alright? I did what I had to do. I would have done the same for you, and I fucking know you would have done it for me or your kids, so don’t fucking play high and mighty.”

“You fucking idiot,” he repeated, and he held Trevor tighter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Physical abuse, emotional abuse, attempted rape/non-con

There was nothing left when the firemen finally starved the fire and cooled the ashes of the once great Vanilla Unicorn. Everything was gone; not even the pole made it out of the intense heat. The smoke added to the already thick and heavy air of Los Santos, and the clean-up process had already begun. Sitting at the edge of an ambulance, Waverly clutched Trevor's Impotent Rage figurine tightly, staring blankly at the concrete as Trevor shouted at Michael and Amanda. She didn't like it when Trevor yelled, but there was nothing she could do. Trevor would be Trevor. Loud, rambunctious and scary as fuck.

"Look, Trevor," Michael continued, "there was nothing that could be done! There weren't any signs, we had no idea it would be coming! These things happen, alright? Fires break out--"

"There  _ had _ to have been something!" he shouted. Trevor then held up a slip of scorched paper, pointing at the insignia. The paper pictured a paw with another paw within one of the claws. The Urban Tigers insignia, seemingly graffitied on more and more walls as of late.

"They want us to know it was them. Not only that, but they made sure I was gone before doing anything. My question, is why?! What good would killing Wave do for them? I thought the fuckers wanted her back alive, not as a charred corpse!?"

"Well, let's do a head count here, shall we!?" Michael pointed to each of his fingers after he stated an event. "You've killed several of their kids, you mocked them, kidnapped their favorite, then turned her against them, and have ultimately shattered their foundations by causing them to dive straight into the action! That's not something the majority of them trained for! They’re meant for undercover work, not being on the fucking front lines of battle!"

"If they hadn't taken any of my fucking money in the first place, none of us would be here right now!"

" _ And _ !" Michael pointed into his friend's chest angrily. "If they wanted to get back at you, what's the one thing they could take from you that would have any major effect on that steel heart of yours!?"

Trevor shoved back, barking at Michael. “I don’t much care for whatever the fuck you are implying!”

Michael threw his arms up in the air in frustration. “Oh, yeah! Because, you know, I most  _ definitely  _ didn’t see the way you and the fucking kid interact, especially last night! No, you’re totally not letting her past those fucking perfect, impenetrable defenses and taking her under your wing as your own! Face it, Philips, you love the kid! You think Wave’s like this perfect heir to Trevor Philips Enterprises, or whatever the  _ fuck  _ your little operation’s called--”

“Blah blah blah, I’m not listening!” Trevor yelled as he threw his hands over his ears and started stomping around. “Blah blah , blahbahblahblah!”

“-- and you’re letting her in to your closest-kept feelings, because, God forbid it, you actually  _ trust  _ her! The kid who, not four months ago, wanted to put a gun to your head in your sleep! Jesus fucking Christ, and I thought I needed therapy! You’re a fucking mess is what you are, Philips-- a real fucking piece of work! You think this can work out?!”

“Blah blah blahblah _ blah! _ ”

“You think you can actually give her the life she needs to learn how to function like an actual human being? Wake the fuck up!”

“Shut up!” Trevor screamed. “Shut up shut up shut up!”

At last, Waverly had had enough. She hopped down from where she was sitting just as the paramedics were going to tell her to move anyways, stomping over to the two men. “Both of you shut the fuck up! God, it’s like watching two little bratty kids, you never know when to fucking quit! Shut your fucking mouths right now, or I’ll take you both out!”

Trevor growled long and low, ready to pounce, but Michael held him back with a single arm.

“Kid’s right,” he told Trevor. “We gotta cool it, or we don’t know where this will all end.”

Reluctantly, Trevor put a lid on it, clenching his fists hard enough to cause his palms to bleed. Wave heaved a massive sigh, placing a hand to her forehead.

“I’ve got a fucking headache now, so thanks for that. Look, I think I know how they found us. I  _ think _ . Beverley has a corrupt portion of the FIB doing some of her dirty work. They can track everything. Where does some of your data go when you make a purchase with a credit card? Not only that, but she has some kids out on the field, collecting data of their own. There's a chance one of her kids saw us, because I've never seen Trevor use a credit card. They probably saw us together out at the pier, tracked us back to the Vanilla Unicorn, and set the place on fire after you left, Trevor. Back door was blocked-- I couldn’t get out that way, and the front was already blazing by the time I got there. They knew how to trap me in, and I’m sorry I didn’t react sooner. I could have made it out if I’d been smart, but I let my guard down. I..."

Wave frowned. 

“I actually started thinking that maybe I was safe with you.”

“You  _ are  _ safe with me,” Trevor growled. “Those fuckers aren’t going to get to you as long as I live. You aren’t going back to the fucking Urban Tigers, alright?”

“I should!” she exclaimed, looking distraught. “All I’ve done is cause you fucking misery, Trevor! From the moment I stepped out of that fucking car all that time ago, all I’ve given you is grief and another problem to deal with. I should go back so you don’t have to worry about this anymore.” 

Sighing, he walked up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I don't give a damn, Waverly. I'm just... so happy that you're safe."

Her eyes softened. “You? Happy? That I’m safe?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking into her eyes with a gentle look-- at least, as gentle as Trevor, of all people, could manage.

Wave’s tension flooded out of her body as she stared up into Trevor’s eyes. Her body twitched, as if she was going to move forward, but restrained herself. Then, she did it again, and with one step forward, had her body against his. Trevor got the idea, awkwardly wrapping his arms around her in a loose hug. He tightened his grip when she hugged him back.

He spent the next few minutes comforting her, softly petting her back and whispering consoling nothings into her ears. Soon, Michael awkwardly cleared his throat and asked, "So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Trevor muttered, still holding Waverly. He seemed to have a sort of sparkle in his eyes as he stared down at the top of her head.

The older of the two sighed, pacing restlessly. "Well, look, you're always welcome in my home, T. At least, under circumstances like this--"

" _ No _ ." Trevor stated firmly. He pulled himself away from Wave, facing Michael again. "I'm not getting you involved in this. Not  Amanda, not Jimmy, not Franklin... no one. This is a path I've decided to take, and I'm taking it alone."

"You should leave it up to Wave."

"I'm not giving her a fucking choice," he snarled. " She should not put you in danger because she wants a bed. There are just some things you gotta forfeit for the better of your friends."

Wave nodded solemnly. "Trevor's right. You got a family, Mikey. We can't break that apart, and if the Urban Tigers track us down there too, there’s no telling what will happen to your place. It’s not something any of us can afford."

Michael shook his head. "It just doesn't seem right."

Trevor gently pushed his old friend towards his car and waiting family. "We'll talk again when things seem to calm down. For the time being, try not to call me, try not to email me, run into me on the street, send me money, anything. Wave and I will find a way to get by with what we have. We’re not accessing the bank, we’re not using credit cards, ID, anything. We’re going off the radar, alright? Go.”

Michael did as he was told, looking back wistfully the entire way. When he reached his car, he opened his door, glancing back one more time, then got in. His family was on him immediately, bombarding him with question after question as the car pulled away and back onto the highway towards home.

“Wave, come with me. Get in the truck."

The girl stood, following closely behind the sociopath. "Where are we going?"

Trevor sighed. "We need to get a makeover, I guess. Make ourselves less recognizable at first glance. Throw them off the scent. I know a few places, but you are going to have to get creative. There's one thing I absolutely need you to do, though."

"Which is?"

He glanced at her, a pained look on his face.

"You gotta chop off your hair. All of it."

Wave halted in the middle of the street, waving her arms in front of her wildly as she shook her head. “No, no, no way. Challenge denied. My hair’s all I’ve got to my name, my pride and joy.”

“All the more reason to get rid of it,” he replied without stopping. “If your friends are looking for the dark, long haired girl in T-shirts, then yeah, the hair’s got to fucking go. You can do anything else otherwise, dye it yellow, blue, fucking rainbow, I don’t care, but the locks need to go bye-bye.”

“No. I’m not doing that.”

Trevor stopped, groaning as he whirled back around, stomping towards Wave. She tensed, arms raised in self-defense, but it did no good; he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and squeezed, marching her towards the truck as she struggled to break free.

“Fucker!” she shouted. “Let me go!” He kneed her in the back, forcing her forward as she gasped.

“The hair,” he repeated, “is going a-fucking-way, today! Now get in the fucking truck, you butch piece of shit!” Trevor shoved her forward, ignoring the way her body bounced back off of the passenger door from the force of it, and marched around front to the driver’s seat. Wave glared after him as she struggled for breath, having had all of the air knocked out of her lungs, before begrudgingly opening the door and climbing into her own seat. She shook her head, thinking about how nothing ever changed with Trevor. He was always right, and she was always wrong.

“I can’t,” she repeated, “fucking cut my hair. It’s all I am; I’ll be  _ nothing  _ without it.”

“Then I guess you’re going to be fucking nothing.” 

He put the vehicle into drive, and pulled out and away from the charred remnants of the Vanilla Unicorn, the smoke still billowing high into the Los Santos skyline.

 

* * *

 

 

"What do you wanna do today, sweetheart?"

Wave sat in the barber's seat, stiffly looking straight forward. In the mirror, however, she could see Trevor nodding.

Wave took pride in her long, black hair. It was her trademark among her old allies, who preferred to keep their hair short. It was thick, silky and healthy, which was a blessing in comparison to the majority of the other kids that had lice. It was also what she was known for. She sighed, knowing full well it was a sacrifice that had to be made, despite her resistance and attempts to keep the style. She’d tried to bargain with Trevor-- “I’ll wear a hat”-- to no avail. It was time. 

"I want to... get a short cut. Like that, I guess." She pointed to the cover of a magazine on the front of the table, to a pixie cut. The hairdresser followed where she was pointing, and nodded.

"Sure thing, hon. You wanna donate the excess?"

"Uh... yeah, why not.” Wave shifted around uncomfortably, having never been in a barber’s chair before. “ And, um, can I have my hair dyed... blonde?" She cringed at the sound of those words coming from her own lips.

"If it's alright with your dad over there, then sure."

Both of them tensed. Trevor? Her  _ father _ ? That was ridiculous. Nevertheless, she looked over to him with questioning eyes, and he sat up.

"Uh, yeah, she can do what she wants, I don't give a fuck."

"Alright then, hon, gimme a sec and we'll get to work."

Wave released a shaky sigh, slumping in her seat and knowing she was going to dread the next hour or so of her life.

 

* * *

 

 

Within the next five hours, they had changed their looks enough that it'd take more than a double take to recognize them. Trevor had shaven his head and set himself to letting his facial hair grow out, and had wrapped himself in a flannel shirt, leather jacket, and nearly black jeans. 

Waverly had taken a much more drastic change-- her hair had been shaven at the base of her neck, while the rest of her head remained adorned with short blonde locks of hair. Her shirt was pink-- the left sleeve was normal and long, while the right had a hole in the shoulder, so that the length of it hung longer over her hand. They’d purchased some makeup to cover up her lip and temple scars, and she pulled uncomfortably at the skinny jeans as they bunched around her thighs.

"My head feels empty," she complained to Trevor.

"Probably because you dyed it blonde, you dumbass," Trevor joked. He smirked down at her as they walked along the Vinewood streets, but she, in response, frowned up at him.

"Trevor, I  _ adored  _ my hair. I really feel empty without it. Why don’t you fuck a cactus?"

He rolled his eyes as his smile fell. "Hair grows back, kid. Unless, of course, you're an old creep like me."

"With my luck, I will be."

They’d left the truck behind in a parking lot where they knew it wouldn’t be towed away, thinking that that was also a clear sign of their presence. To walk around rather than drive would make them even less conspicuous. They spent the next hour simply wandering the streets aimlessly, until, somewhere off of Vinewood, the two decided to take a breather. Trevor pointed at a stairway for Wave to sit at, and she did so gratefully.

She tensed when he began to walk away, but he was only approaching a street player. He tapped the man on the shoulder, gesturing to his guitar.

“Mind if me and my girl borrow that?” He asked as he tossed in five bucks into the guitar case. The man in question shrugged, and handed the instrument to Trevor. He followed them back to the stairwell, eyeing his precious instrument carefully. Trevor sat down next to Wave, propping the guitar under his arm.

“ _ Lost Cause, _ ” he said to her, the song he’d been practicing to near perfection. “Duet with me.”

Wave gave him an uncertain look, but knew that if she didn’t play along, things would not end well, and it was too public of a place for things to go south. Reluctantly, she cleared her throat, leaning back against the wall.

 

“ _ Your sorry eyes cut through the bone;  
_ _ They make it hard to leave you alone.  
_ _ Leave you here wearing your wounds,  
_ _ Waving your guns at somebody new.  
_ _ Baby you're lost,  
_ _ Baby you're lost,  
_ __ Baby you're a lost cause. ”

 

To their surprise, passerby began to leave them tips, tossing coins and dollar bills their way. To this, Trevor gave thankful nods, but Wave ignored them, staring anywhere but at the people walking by. The man who’d lent Trevor the guitar nodded his head in beat with the music. Waverly’s voice wasn’t beautiful by any means, but it wasn’t unpleasant either-- her singing voice had a warble to it that caught the listener’s attention.

 

“ _ There's too many people you used to know.  
_ _ They see you coming, they see you go.  
_ _ They know your secrets, and you know theirs.  
_ _ This town is crazy; nobody cares.  
_ _ Baby you're lost,  
_ _ Baby you're lost,  
_ _ Baby you're a lost cause.  
_ _ I'm tired of fighting,  
_ _ I'm tired of fighting,  
_ __ Fighting for a lost cause.

_ There’s a place where you are goin’;  
_ _ You ain’t never been before.  
_ _ No one left to get your back now.  
_ _ No one standin’ at your door,  
_ __ ‘Cause that’s what you thought love was for... ”

 

Trevor’s fingers plucked insistently at tiny strings, forcing out the notes to the song as they continued. As they progressed, Waverly’s voice grew weaker and weaker, until, around the end, her voice could barely be heard above the reverberating strings of the guitar. A final person passing by dropped a five dollar bill, and the guitar faded back into silence.

“Thank you,” Trevor muttered, and he handed the instrument back to its rightful owner. The man nodded his thanks, and returned to his place back at his instrument case. Trevor gathered up the money they had gotten, counting out what they’d been given. Waverly remained sitting in silence. It made him feel uneasy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Four days of being on the streets later, the duo found themselves in a Burger Shot. They’d stopped there for dinner before making their way to one of the homeless shelters scattered around LS.

"Kid, come on, eat up," Trevor urged, glancing around the mostly empty restaurant. He didn’t want to stay long, fearful that being in one place for too long would draw attention to them. He’d already finished his food and was waiting on her. "I don't know when the next time we'll go out will be. And I'm not about to waste six bucks."

The girl picked at her half eaten food absentmindedly. "I'm not hungry."

"Bullshit, you're always hungry."

"I'm not." She countered defensively, though she looked drained.

He leaned back, exasperated. "You okay, Waverly?"

"Fine." She continued to pick at her food. The truth was, she was not fine. She didn’t feel well. She felt weak, and like if she didn’t concentrate on keeping her cool, she would start shaking like a leaf. She didn’t want to look weak to Trevor, so she attempted to stay as still as possible. She couldn’t afford to be sick right now. She couldn’t.

Trevor sensed instantly that something was wrong, sitting back up and staring her down. “No, no, I think something’s not right. You look pale.”

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” she exclaimed, slamming her fist down on the table. The entire thing rattled, and a thin crack formed from the corner of the table leading to her hand.

They both blinked at the sight. 

“Weak table,” Trevor muttered, though his eyes were wide.

“Y-yeah,” she stammered, staring at the same place. As soon as she unclenched her fist, her entire arm shook with tremors.

Trevor shook his head, standing up from the table. “Let’s get you out of here,” he said to her. He offered her his hand-- something he tried often not to do. To his surprise, she took it, but her grip was wrong. Weak.  _ Desperate _ .

Something was  _ very  _ wrong. She was doing her damndest to hide it, but Trevor knew her better than that. He pulled her out of the booth and wrapped his left arm around her, and felt her body quaking and shaking. He shook his head and hurried the both of them out of the restaurant.

Los Santos can be a scary place. And, if you're not careful, deadly.

This is the time where criminals and gangs run rampant through the streets of the successful city. The time where typical families shutter their windows and play blind to the violence surrounding them. It is a time where no man, woman or child are ever safe alone and, sometimes, even together. The gamblers emerge from their cramped dens and the prostitutes turn up their chin for the sake of business.

It is the night.

Trevor knew this world well. He was once a part of it. Sometimes, he likes to think he still is. He can be just as dangerous as the night if he damn well pleases.

But not tonight. Tonight, Trevor was a guardian. He held Wave close to him, occasionally giving her a comforting pat on her back. They hurried along the dark, cold streets, leaving the dead truck behind. It was supposed to snow that night. Since they couldn't get a hotel room, they needed at least somewhere dry to sleep. They tried the homeless shelters, but all of them had been booked for the night. Trevor was determined to find someplace this night, however. Wave was tired, and sick. She coughed often, nose running and knees shaky. Whatever she had, it wasn't good. Trevor dragged her along as gently as he could, whispering soft encouragements and supporting her. Secretly, he was frightened. This quickly cooling winter weather wasn't going to do her any favors. She needed somewhere dry and warm to rest. Not only that, but he'd never taken care of a sick kid before. 

He didn't know what to do. Everything was gone. They had nothing left because of the damn Urban Tigers and their possessive tendencies. No home, no bed, no food or clothes, nothing. And it was all because of Waverly.

What had she done to him? How had this perfect stranger, how had this little shit come in to his life so easily and flip his world upside down? He tried not to dwell on it too much, finding that he much rather prefered on focusing on getting her to a safer place.

They walked into the fog.

 

* * *

 

 

Giselle Townshend loved her car.

It wasn't anything fancy, oh no. If anything, it was an old piece of shit. To her, however, it was an antique. This blue Dominator had seen better days. You had to push on a pedal to get the windshield fluid to work. The AC was busted, too. The letter "R" had fallen off of the logo on back, so it read, "Dominato." This car was better than that, in her eyes.

She rolled around to her apartment complex, sneering at anyone who gave her a nasty look. Giselle wasn’t in the best of moods, having been fired earlier that day. Again. For whatever reason, she found that she just could not manage to keep a job, no matter what she tried. It was infuriating, and she found herself beginning to wonder what was the point in even trying.

Shaking her head, she pushed up her thick glasses and brushing wavy brunette hair out of her face. She rolled into her own parking space, and flipped off the car. The musky smell of the old vehicle filled her nostrils, and she inhaled deeply, lovingly.

She loved this car.

Of to her left, the sounds of a struggle reached her ears, and she gazed in that direction. Of course. It was that gross group of rapists again. They always hung out around this particular area of LS, and no matter how many complaints and cases were filed against them, the police seemed to not care enough to actually try anything to get them out of there. She didn't care though. Through some quick thinking and bribing, she had gotten them off of her case for good. It was unfortunate when she saw other people get involved with them, whether intentionally or by mistake.

But this was different. It was those people she had seen at the Burger Shot earlier that evening. That man and his daughter. She’d seen them across the way, and had listened to them carefully, watched them interact. They seemed like good-enough people, in her opinion. Homeless, by the sounds and looks of it, too. They had walked off into the night after they’d finished eating, though they weren’t looking better for wear. As far as she was concerned, they were under her protection.

Giselle stepped from her dominator, frowning as she slowly made her way to the trunk. It was time to be the hero that no one wanted, but everyone needed. So, from the back of her car, she produced a crowbar.

Things were going to get messy.

 

* * *

 

 

She struggled weakly, yanking on her arms even as they were held firmly behind her by one man, while another stood in front of her, eyeing her body with a ravenous look. Her voice rang out in the quiet, still night for the man across the alley, also being held back.

"Trevor!"

His entire body thrashed, but it wasn’t enough strength to break free from the two men holding him back. Though he seethed and spat loudly, there was nothing he could do, forced to his knees and left only to watch in vain. "Leave her the fuck alone!” He shouted with the might of his voice. “You nasty fucks, if you lay a fucking finger in her--"

One of the men kicked Trevor in his gut with the heel of his boot. "Shut up! We'll get to you next. We won’t leave you feeling left out." He gave a perverted chuckle.

"Damn, you can tell this is some untouched territory,” one of the men commented of Waverly as his hands found their way in between her legs. “Look at the bitch squirm!"

“Stop fucking touching me!” She screamed at them, voice cracking as she held back tears she didn’t want Trevor to see. “You assholes, leave us alone!”

"Mmm, baby,” the man touching her thighs whispered, hand reaching for the zipper of her jeans, “you make my dick pulse. I wanna shove it so deep in your mouth… touch your tight little--"

"Fuckers!" Trevor shouted, having recovered enough breath to scream again. "She’s not your fucking plaything! Leave her alone! Let go of-- get your hands off my dick, you fuck!"

He yanked his head to one side away from the new threat in front of him; then, from a distance, Trevor could see someone running towards them with a crowbar in their hands. It sounded like… the clicking of high heels. When they finally made it to the group, he could see it was a woman, with intent to kill in her eyes. The woman swung her crowbar excitedly, hitting one of the men holding Waverly in the head. He immediately collapsed, and the one that had been working on her jeans backed away.

"Anyone else?" she growled, hands grasping the weapon firmly.

The man that had been touching Waverly’s thighs grasped her, holding a knife to her back as he began to walk away. The man that had been touching Trevor came between him and the woman. “Keep your distance, lady,” the one holding Wave ground out. “I’ll fucking cripple the slut if you get close.”

Without remorse, the woman swung her crowbar again, cracking the defender’s face in one blow. In the distraction, Trevor broke free from the men holding him, headbutting one and kicking the other in the groin. Quickly, he drew out his pistol, and shot the man holding Waverly right in the head. The knife skittered to the concrete, and Wave collapsed, shuddering heavy breaths.

The men left standing ran for their lives, truly terrified of this insane woman and now with the knowledge that one of their captives had been armed the whole time. She, in turn, roared at their fleeing bodies, laughing and cringing for no apparent reason.

Trevor turned around slowly to face this new person, eyes narrowed. “Thanks, I guess."

"I live right here." Giselle pointed to her building, then pointed at Waverly. "Waverly isn't looking so hot. You're more than welcome to come inside."

"How did you know her name?" Trevor growled, taking a menacing step towards the woman.

"I heard you talking to her earlier. At the Burger Shot. I was just a couple tables away. I think I get your situation, and I want you to know that I’ll rent out the guest bedroom to you. No questions asked. I really need the money."

“You just met us,” Trevor pointed out, walking over to Wave and helping her to her feet.

“And out of the three of us left, you’re the one that drew a gun.” Her eyes trailed to the corpses around their feet. “I’m still offering you a place to stay, so long as that weapon doesn’t get pointed at me. Take it or leave it.” 

The three people stood awkwardly, trying to figure out what to say or do. As much as Trevor distrusted this woman, Wave was in desperate need of a good place to rest. To further prove this fact, the girl coughed, and her nose started to bleed. She held a hand under her nose weakly in an attempt to stop the bloodflow, to no avail. Trevor sighed-- he was in a really shitty situation, and right now, a way out was being offered to him by a complete stranger. What did he have to lose?

"Show the way," he muttered.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trevor has no personal space when Wave is naked, and this is one of the chapters where his affection gets really on the creepy side.

Giselle fumbled for her keys at the door to her apartment as she stared at her guests, who weren't looking better for wear. The old guy definitely had seen better days, she decided, looking at his rugged face, cratered with signs of drug abuse and scars. Hell, he'd even be handsome if he had taken better care of himself. His clothes were sweaty and filthy, like he didn't give a shit about what he wore, his shaven head and growing beard did not fit him at all, and his eyes had this sort of intense glare that made her uncomfortable in a way.

The girl seemed to be his complete opposite. Wave had only a few scars here and there, but nothing that couldn't be covered up with makeup. Her clothes, though not fancy, were at least clean in comparison to his, and new, by the looks of it, as well. And, while the older guy seemed pretty fit for his age and background, the girl looked tired and run down. She would have thought it would have been the other way around in a scenario like this, but then again, Waverly looked pretty sick.

_ ‘Poor thing. I bet she'd like some warm cake batter’ _ , Giselle thought to herself. She felt a pang of sympathy for the two as Trevor held the fatigued girl in his arms, looking very concerned and perhaps even frightened.

At last, she opened the door to her two bedroom apartment, shouting "Tadaaah!" as the door swung open.

There was a love seat and an old tv, probably back from 2005. There was a fold out table with two chairs behind the love seat, and the kitchen didn't even take up a sixth of the apartment. To the left of the kitchen was one bedroom, and to the right, past the tv, another. A bathroom lay at the end of the short hall to the left, with an empty bookshelf and another closed door.

"Well, this will have to do," Trevor mumbled, clearly not impressed with what he saw. He handed Giselle a hundred dollar bill. “Here’s first month’s rent, if you need more, just speak up. Can she go wash up?" He pointed to Wave.

"Sure.” Giselle responded. “She can borrow some of my things for tonight-- I assume you don’t have hardly anything to your name right now. As for you?"

"I don't need a thing,” Trevor said, letting go of Wave. “Yet, I guess."

"No!" she shouted, which made everyone jump, including herself. She lowered her voice and insisted, "You want something!"

"Jesus lady, no I don't! Wave, go shower."

"But-"

"Wave!"

After a moment of hesitation, the girl complied, shuddering. Trevor turned back to Giselle, only to find that she had already excused herself to the kitchen. She was rummaging around in her refrigerator, before making a sound of glee and returned to Trevor holding a bowl of what looked to be chocolate. Her mouth was smeared with the stuff. "Want some?" she asked with a full mouth.

"Uh... no thank you, crazy lady." He said to her.

"Gee." she corrected him. “Call me Gee, please.”

Trevor screwed up his face at the name. And he thought Waverly’s name was bad. "What kind of fucking name is Gee?"

The woman laughed, her eyes going cross eyed for a split second. "It's not my real name, dummy. I just prefer that people call me that. If you really don't like it, my full name is Giselle Townshend. And you? What do I call you?"

He thought about it for a moment before deciding, what could be the harm in telling this woman his name? It didn’t have to be his full name, anyways. He followed her to the couch, sitting on the armrest while she slumped into the couch. "...Trevor. My name’s Trevor."

"Ask for anything, Trevor. I'm an open book and house. You're my guests, so it is my sole duty to take care of you to the best of my ability." She scooped another handful of the batter and shoved it in her mouth. "By the way," she continued, "did you notice that nasty gash across her back?"

"Whose back?" he asked.

"Wave's.” Giselle said it like it should have been obvious. “She got cut real bad. That fucktard that held a knife to her back? Sliced her anyways-- looks like your sharpshooting skills did you a lot of good there."

"What!?" Trevor panicked, gaze shooting away from her and towards the bathroom his girl had gone into. "Why- how didn't I see that? Fuck, I'm retarded! Wa-"

Gee shushed him roughly, slugging him in the arm. He, in turn, hissed at her, leaping up from the couch. “Listen!” she exclaimed. “Let her finish cleaning off first. She obviously isn’t hurt enough to need immediate attention, seeing as she didn’t say anything to you. Once she’s out of the shower, you can patch her up-- I think I have a med kit lying around somewhere.”

“She is  _ hurt _ ,” Trevor emphasised, eyes wild and angry. “And I didn’t see it. I have to help her.”

“I would wait. She will be alright. Do what you will, Mr. Trevor. But think about Wave’s privacy. She doesn't look a hundred percent, but she also didn’t cry out or beg for your help. Let this play out until she either finishes, or asks for your help.”

Reluctantly, Trevor agreed to let Wave finish her shower. Giselle flipped on the television.

“Do you like _ Fame or Shame _ ?"

"I'll never like that fucking piece of shit show. Don't you  _ dare _ turn it on!"

"Fine. Hockey it is."

She flipped through the stations until she found a team she liked, then took another large mouthful of cake batter. "Aweshome shing abou' dis cach badder... Is that it's low fat, or not made with eggs, but still tastes just as good. So, I can eat to my heart's content and not have to worry about gaining weight or getting Salmonella."

Trevor shook his head, feeling that this Giselle woman definitely wasn’t right in the head. Not as insane as other people he had met, but she was up there. Overall, this woman seemed pretty harmless. If worse came to worse, he could probably take her. But, then again, there were those fucking rapists… she had no trouble bashing their heads in. If Trevor made a wrong move, he could end up like them. Or Wave...

He pushed the thought away, trekking to the fridge to see if there was anything good. When he found a package of pepper jack cheese, he took the whole package and chowed down.

Minutes later, there was a futile thudding against the bathroom door. Trevor leapt up immediately and marched towards the sound. Once there, he waited to see if he could hear anything again.

Eventually, a small voice, weak, called out. "... Trevor..."

The man knocked on the door to the bathroom, feeling sick to his stomach at the sound of her voice so weak. "Wave? What's up?"

"Help... help me..."

Awkwardly he stood there, running a perplexed hand down his face. What was he supposed to do? What did she want? What was he supposed to do for her? "Are you dressed?" he inquired softly.

From behind the door, he could hear her vomiting violently, sobbing and retching uncontrollably. Fearing for her well being, he walked into the room, eyeing her hunched and naked form, and helped her get on some underwear once she was finished emptying the contents of her stomach. Then, he picked her up, cradling her in his arms as he marched directly to the guest bedroom.

"T-tre-vor..." she stuttered out, clutching to his shirt as she sweat.

"I know, baby, I-"

Wait a minute.  _ Baby?  _ Where had that come from? Trevor was nearly appalled at himself for giving her such a nickname. No... no, Wave wasn't his baby. She would never be. She was just his… his… what could he even call her at this point? What was she to him that he would sacrifice everything to take care of her? Trevor decided he would think about it later; now was not the time.

He laid her on her stomach on the bed, putting a bowl at the edge where her head was should she throw up again. Then, he took a look at her back. Gee was right. There was a nasty cut all the way down from her left shoulder blade to her right hip, still welling with blood in a few places. His fists balled up in anger. ‘ _ How could I have not seen this? _ ’

"Wait here, kid," he said. Not that she was going anywhere, but he wanted to assure her he was going to come back. He took the first aid kit from Gee's cupboard and went back to the room, making sure to close the door behind him. Didn't need psycho lady walking in on such a delicate procedure. The kit didn't have everything he needed to properly tend the wound. He'd have to make due with what there was. First, he took the antiseptic, just like the first time he patched her up, and gently applied it to the opening. The girl whimpered and tensed up, the pain burning throughout her nerves.

"Stop fucking complaining,” Trevor barked down at her, but there was no strength in his words. Comforting wounded or emotionally devastated people was not one of his strong suits. “I know it sucks, but grow a fucking pair, why don’t you?"

After the antiseptic was successfully applied, he took a needle from the kit, then went back in the bathroom. He rummaged around in the drawers and found what he was looking for: dental floss. He went back to the bedroom and used this to patch up the gaping hole in her back. This was the hardest part; Trevor had to be careful not to pull too hard on the floss, or it'd break.

Waverly waited patiently for him to finish, still drained from her episodes, but slowly getting back to a point where she would be able to speak again. He cleaned the wound again once the impromptu stitching was applied, then began to tear up his shirt. At the sound of the ripping fabric, she looked behind her shoulder at him. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"There's no more bandaging in here," Trevor explained, gesturing to the med kit with a nod of his head. "I know it doesn't look the cleanest, but they’re just stains. Well, most of them. It’ll have to do for now."

He gently pulled her into a sitting position, hands snaking around her front and under her breasts. Trevor began to tie the makeshift gauze around her whole torso, being extra careful not to directly touch her chest; he wasn’t sure he’d have the heart to fight back if she started hitting him. The girl, when he came around one time, rested her hands on his. He tensed, afraid that he’d angered her somehow, but she just held him there.

"Trevor?"

He gulped, looking out the window at the fire escape. "... yeah?"

Waverly was quiet as she thought about what she wanted to say. "... why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you keep me around? I mean, I cause you so much fucking trouble, and it's because of me that you lost everything.  _ Me _ . As soon as you let me in to your life, all you’ve gotten in return is death and destruction, like some fucking tragic love story. I hated you once, and you hated me. If I were to leave, you'd never have to put up with my shit again. Please, Trevor; just let me go so you can get back to your life. You don’t need me around, so why am I still here?"

Wave released his hands to wipe away her tears, sniffling loudly. Trevor sat back, wondering the answer to that himself. ‘ _Why_ do _I keep her around?_ _Duh,_ ’ he told himself. ‘ _It's because you're a fucking idiot. It's because you let her steal your heart and tug on every string, even the ones that piss you off. It's because you didn't kill her off when you had the chance, and now she's turning you into a fucking softy man-baby._ ’

But the million dollar question was: ‘ _ Do I care? _ ’

He found, after careful consideration, that he did not care. He found that it was, in the end, worth it. Her companionship, the struggle and strife, all of it was worth it to have someone like her around. Someone like him. Someone that  _ understood  _ him. Michael knew how he acted and how to react, but he didn’t really  _ understand  _ him like Waverly did. He didn’t come from the same point of view-- he didn’t see things the same. Waverly and Trevor had the same mindset, the same set of rules that they followed, the same outbursts, and the same moments of quiet and peace. Trevor truly felt that he  _ needed  _ her in his life. His outlet, his little punching bag and intern, but more than that, his companion, his new running buddy. His… his… 

After tying the gauze into a knot and securing it, Trevor broke down the last of his emotional barriers between him and the teenage girl that had brought so much grief and suffering into his life. He pulled her into an embrace, head resting on the top of her spine. He inhaled deeply, making sure to implant her scent into his brain forever. Above him, Waverly tensed, hands tightening their grip on his.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she asked weakly, straining to see him from her position.

“I just…” he struggled for words. “I just… I mean, I need-- I want to tell you that I…” He spun her around to face him, ignoring her bare chest as he stared into her blue eyes intently. They seemed so dull, and lifeless, and he felt his heart breaking. She didn’t fight him. She didn’t snarl. She only stared, lids heavy and drooping, lips pale, and cheeks and forehead flushed with fever.

No. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the Waverly that he wanted to say this to.

“I need-- I need to…. Go.”

He let her go suddenly, ignoring her confused expression and nearly toppling over backwards on the bed in his haste to get some distance between them.

“Go?” Waverly asked, seeming scared. “Go where? Where the fuck are you going-- Trevor, you can’t-- I need you here!”

"You can fucking take care of yourself!” he snapped at her, trembling subtly. He pointed at the pillows at the top of the bed. “Go to sleep, I'll be on the couch if you need anything, but you better fucking not because I, eh, because I’m not in the mood to play House with you tonight. Just go to sleep, alright?"

Her mouth moved as if she wanted to argue with him, but she relented, drooping as she grasped at the blankets to cover herself. Trevor left the room fuming, angry and disappointed with himself. Wave stared after him, bewildered and confused as she tried to pick up the shattered pieces of her emotions.

Outside the room, Trevor joined Giselle. She said nothing about his missing shirt, finishing the last of her cake batter as she stared at the TV.

"Sounded like a conflict in there," Gee commented.

"Shut the fuck up!" Trevor barked. “I don’t need you getting involved in my personal business!

The woman stood, and started to stalk towards Trevor. He didn’t budge. "No, you shut up! I’m giving you a place to crash, and this is how you treat me!? Ridiculous! Why, I oughta-"

"We didn’t ask," Trevor butt in, "you offered! And, knowing that my fucking kid is sicker than a fucker in Africa with Ebola, what the fuck else was I supposed to do?! You should know better than to admit strangers from off the street into your home, especially if one of them has a fucking loaded weapon!"

“I need the money,” she shot right back at him. “I need the rent money; if I have to take a few fucking risks to get it, then I’ll take a few fucking risks to fucking get it!”

“And what if I kill you in your sleep? What are you going to fucking do then? Huh? What if I’m secretly one of the fuckers getting ready to rob your ass, leave you sitting on the floor eating out of a tinfoil bowl?!”

Gee spread her arms, shouting at Trevor. “Well then whoop-de-shit, I fucked up, but the risk is worth the potential reward, Trevor! Besides, I saved your ass outside; I don’t think you’d be a rude enough fucker to backstab me now. So I made a shitty comment about your fucked-up familial life, what are you going to do, cry?”

Trevor snarled at her, but it trailed off into something weak. Something broken. The tension left his shoulders and his head drooped. He stumbled backwards, until his back hit the wall, and he slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Placing his head between his arms and knees, he did start to cry. Softly, and to himself, but he did start crying.

“I’m a fucking tool,” he sniffled to himself. “Fucking baby. Can’t even say ‘I love you.’ I’m a goddamn fucking baby.”

Giselle softened, relaxing herself, as she watched this perfect stranger breaking down in the hallway of her own small home. She took a cautious step forward as he continued to sob to himself.

“Waverly,” he hiccuped, “I- I love you, baby. I love you, I swear to God, I’ll be better. I swear to God I’ll be better, I promise. I’ll get us out of this somehow. I’ll get us out somehow.”

After he finished venting, and when she believed it was safe, Gee sat next to him, sliding down the length of the wall herself. She stared ahead silently for a long time, before looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“How’d you end up like this?” Gee asked quietly. “Most homeless people don’t have a gun, or clothes as nice as your guys’. What happened that got you in this shitty position?”

Trevor lifted his head from his lap, face red and eyes wet. He blinked away his tears rapidly and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“Settle in,” he muttered to her. “It’s a long fucking story.”

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey, T, it's Michael. I uh, I wanted to call and check on you. I mean, you might be sleeping by the time you get this message, so uh... yeah. Just, uh, whenever you get the chance, call me back. Tell me if you and Wave are okay. Amanda and the kids are really worried. They… they care about Wave a lot. And you know Amanda hates your guts, but believe it or not, she’s worried about you, too. So seriously. A call, a text, anything. Let me know, okay? Yeah..."

The message ended. The robotic voice on the other end of the line prompted Trevor to delete the message by pressing “7”, and he did so quickly. Trevor was in no mood for verbal conversation. So, he fired off a quick text, and turned back over, Waverly clutched tightly in his arms. Gee had made a late-night run to grab them some clothes after a quick bribe from Trevor after hearing his tale of woe, and she now lay cuddled against him in an old grey undershirt and some pyjama pants with holes in them. Wave had fought him at first, struggled and hit, but in the end, she was in no place to get physically violent with Trevor. Despite how uncomfortable she was being so close to the man, there was nothing she could do. Eventually, she’d settled down to sleep, trapped in his embrace.

"I... need you," he whispered when he was sure she was asleep. He didn’t recognize his own voice when he said it, and the words passed, quite literally, over the top of her head as he petted and stroked at the short dyed locks. “I need you,” he repeated. "More than I need air. Or masturbation. Or Impotent Rage. You’re the only fucking person in this world that gets me on a spiritual level. Michael can read me like a book, but he doesn’t get my metaphors. He doesn’t understand why I do the things I do. You do. And I need you. I need you to not be alone, Waverly."

The girl stirred in her sleep, hand brushing over his. He took her smaller, softer hand in his, and brought it to his lips, inhaling deeply of her natural scent before placing a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. Had Wave been awake, that undoubtedly would have been the straw that broke the camel’s back, and she would have fought to the death to get away from him. Anyone would have.

He would train her, Trevor decided. He would train her to not cringe or flinch at his creepy, borderline pedophiliac and incestuous signs of affection. He would train her to understand that it was just the way he worked, and that he meant no harm in it. It wasn’t as if he was actually  _ attracted  _ to her in that way, either-- he was just… a little more physically affectionate than most people would be okay with. He just wanted to make it blatantly obvious that he loved her, cared about her. This was the only way he knew how.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trevor invents nicknames for Wave. They seem almost a little too intimate, so that's why I'm warning about it here. Seizures. Mental and emotional abuse.

‘ _Why does the bed feel cold?_ ’ Trevor thought to himself when he first woke up. His first thought after that was that Waverly had died in her sleep and now he was laying in bed with a corpse. But no; he'd feel her dead weight in his arms, and she hadn’t been in that bad shape to begin with. She was sick, not dying. Supposedly. No. She wasn’t dead. She wasn't _there_.

Trevor sat up, genuinely concerned. Wave never woke up early. Never. She always woke up at ten, sharp, like her body was clockwork, an alarm set for that specific moment in time. But she wasn’t here now. He threw on a shirt he had had with him and peered around the corner into the living room. Empty. So was the bathroom when he checked there as well. He paced in the living room.

"Waverly!" he called. "Waverly, you fuck! Where are you? Don't do this to me!"

Trevor whirled around at the sound of a door clicking open. Gee emerged from her bedroom, wiping the sleep out of her eyes. "Dude, it's, like, eight thirty. Where the fuck are your manners--"

"Where's Wave!?" he barked at her.

Gee blinked dazedly, crooking her head to one side. "... huh?"

"What did you fucking do to her?!" Trevor screamed and threw himself at the woman, positive that she’d done something to Waverly while he slept, but she sidestepped him easily. He fell flat on his face, forearms bracing his fall. He turned his head to glare up at Gee as the last remnants of sleep left her system.

"Trevor, what makes you think I'd do something to Waverly? That girl has done nothing to deserve my wrath. She’s innocent!"

"Oh, no," Trevor half-chuckled half-whimpered as he stumbled to his feet. "She is far from! That's why I... why... well, you know."

"You should practice saying that you love her, you know," Gee said as he walked back to the guest bedroom. He knelt down and peered under the bed, shouting.

"Waverly!" he exclaimed. “Waver-fucking-lee!” Trevor looked in the closet across from the window, and found nothing. He roared in frustration, slamming the door shut, before whirling around. He stopped short. The window was open, and the fire escape was right there. He didn’t leave the window open when he went to bed that night.

"Oh no," he muttered. Trevor ran to the window, angling his head out and looking right to left. There were no signs of human life anywhere. "Oh, no no no no no, this is bad, this is so very  _ fucking _ bad! What the  _ fuck _ !? She's gone!"

At those words, Giselle came running into the guest bedroom. "What!?"

"She went out the fucking fire escape!” Trevor shouted, throwing on a jacket Gee had bought him the night before. “The little fucker ran away! She had  _ everything  _ with me, and she just decided to fucking leave? Oh, no, she  _ belongs  _ to me. She’s not going fucking anywhere. She’s  _ mine _ , no one else's!  _ My girl!  _  I gotta go find her!"

Despite how uneasy Gee felt hearing Trevor speak that way about another human being, she steeled her nerves and stepped forward. "I'm coming with you,” Gee insisted, not for Trevor’s sake, but for Wave’s. “You could use the extra help; Los Santos is a big place." She threw on her own jacket, propping open the door with a foot, and followed Trevor as he ran past, gliding down the apartment stairs in his haste to get to a vehicle.

As he rushed down the steps, Trevor pulled out his phone, dialing Michael’s number. The response was almost instantaneous.

“Trevor!” the older man exclaimed, sounding relieved. “Are you okay man? What’s been happening? I’ve been worried sick.”

Trevor snarled into the receiver. “Drop the mother hen act, Townley. I’m calling in the search dogs. Wave’s run away.”

Michael stuttered. “W-what? You’re kidding! You’ve got to be!”

“Do you think I would fake something like this, you dense fucker?! Wave is gone! She could be anywhere in L.S. and I need your help finding her! I need  _ everyone’s  _ help finding her. The Urban Tigers could have her, the LSPD could have snatched her up,  _ anyone _ . And I need your help finding her. Get Franklin, get Lamar, get  _ everybody _ . We have  _ got  _ to find her before it’s too late!”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Jesus, Jesus Chr--”

Trevor ended the call, and Gee unlocked the Dominator. The two of them sat inside, and drove out of the parking lot in a flash.

 

* * *

 

 

Wave stumbled into a back alley even as her head spun wildly, arms clutched around her torso and around the small figurine she’d salvaged when she dropped out of the apartment window. She was fairly certain that the world wasn’t supposed to be changing colors the way it was now. Her vision pulsed like flashing lights at a rock concert as she tripped from one wall to another. Her bones ached.

Christ, what was she even doing? She remembered tripping out the window, carefully making her way down the stairs, and then… why did she do it?

She remembered the way he held her. The way he kissed her hand. The way he  _ smelled  _ her. It wasn’t right. He was supposed to hate her. He was supposed to want her as his intern, not a friend. Not a lover. Not a  _ daughter _ .

It was an elaborate set-up. Him preparing her, him tricking her. Trevor was her captor, not her friend. And yet, from how he treated her, Wave couldn’t help but find herself doubting. Why did he hold her like she was something precious? Something fragile? And yet, in a heartbeat, he could turn around and kill her?

She remembered. She remembered waking up in his arms, and seeing the peace on his face, and realizing that she couldn’t stay anymore. Her heart screamed at her when she opened the window and climbed out, but she couldn’t let him drag her in any more than he already had. She had to leave before her mind and heart wouldn’t let her anymore. He could hurt her. He could kill her.

Wave had to leave before she stopped caring if he did or not.

She tripped over a bottle on the ground, not having seen it before, and as she stumbled, she dropped the item she held in her arms. At the sound of sirens drawing nearer, she decided it wasn’t worth going back for, and tripped and fumbled forwards without it.

 

* * *

 

 

The search took them long into the evening, driving down every street and alley they could point out to each other. Trevor leaned from the window, shouting down the street at people he thought might have seen her, but all gave him negative responses. Multiple times, Gee suggested they call the police, but he shot down that idea every time she brought it up, and wouldn’t tell her why. As time went on, Giselle grew more and more suspicious of Trevor’s motives. Who was he, anyways? Was what he had told her the night before true at all? The fighting, the running? It didn’t seem to click quite enough to her liking.

Around Little Bighorn Avenue, the two heard a car horn, and turned around to see Franklin driving to meet them. They slowed to a stop, and he pulled up next to them as he rolled down the window.

"What news, amigo? Tell me!" Trevor exclaimed, leaning out the passenger window towards Franklin. He held out his arms and made grabbing motions.

Franklin didn't respond right away, the expression on his face one of deep concern and worry. But, slowly, he reached over to the passenger seat, and handed his missing Impotent Rage to him. "I found it near Innocence Boulevard. Wasn’t lookin’ like she was there recently, dog. Things ain’t lookin good fo' our asses."

Trevor took the small toy gingerly from Franklin, as if it was made of glass and would shatter at any moment. He caressed the statue like it was Waverly herself, a single finger trailing down the scratched and dented side of the face.

“This isn’t happening,” he whispered to himself, trembling. “This  _ can’t  _ be happening to me. She wouldn’t leave me like this. She wouldn’t. She-- she  _ can’t _ . She’s  _ mine _ .”

Franklin swallowed uneasily. “We’ll find her,” he assured him. “We’ll find her and get her back, dog, I swear.”

The Canadian set the figurine in the back seat, shaking his head. “Keep looking around,” he told Franklin. “Gee and I will go check Innocence.”

Franklin nodded, rolling up his window and heading down the road the opposite way. Giselle kicked the vehicle into drive and continued towards their destination in silence. Just as they were rolling into the neighborhood, Trevor’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He yanked the device out, and his eyes widened. It was Michael. He hastily answered and put the device up to his ear.

“What?” he demanded to know.

"I saw them!"

"Who? Who did you see? Wave?!” Trevor shouted into the receiver in excitement, attempting to stand up, before he remembered he was in a car, and promptly sat back down.

"Yeah!” Michael sounded breathless, and some song was playing on a radio somewhere-- probably in his car. “Some guy in a purple jacket just picked her up and got in this shitty van with her!"

"Please, don't you fucking tell me you just let him walk away!" Trevor groaned, throwing his fist into the side of the car door.

"I didn’t dare shoot at him-- I was afraid of hurting Wave. But don’t worry, I’m following them right now."

"You might already be too fucking late!" Trevor exclaimed. “Christ, Michael, don’t you fucking lose him, or I will--”

“Don’t give me your fucking threats, Philips! I could have gotten her killed if I’d engaged! I don’t know who this guy is or what kind of threat he is to us-- he could have had a gun, or a knife, he could have-- look, we’re going to get her back, just calm the fuck down, alright?”

Trevor shut his eyes tight and took a few deep breaths through his nose, trying to take Michael’s advice. “Fine. Fine, fine, just tell me where the fuck you are, we’ll meet up.”

"I'm just getting off of Little Bighorn Avenue."

"That's where we were! Gee, turn the fuck around!"

The woman complied with no words, making a dangerous U-turn in the middle of traffic, much to the chagrin of angry drivers on the road with them. Soon enough, he saw Michael’s car, driving along and not slowing for a second. Quite some feet ahead was the van he was speaking of. Gee and Trevor fell in line behind Michael, and after a while, behind them, Franklin did the same.

The four criminals made their way through the darkening streets as a group, keeping their distance from the white van. After a couple more minutes, the vehicle slowed to a stop in front of an abandoned warehouse. They watched as two men got out of the driver and passenger seats, and when the back doors swung open, three more walked out-- two that were dragging a girl with a sack over her head. Her feet dragged on the ground, but Trevor recognized those white and blue sneakers anywhere. He dug his fingers into the palm of his hand, cutting into his own skin as he tried to restrain himself.

The men walked into the warehouse, laughing and poking fun at each other, until the girl dropped to her knees. One of the men escorting her picked her up, carrying her limp body over his shoulder. The doors shut behind them.

Simultaneously, Trevor, Gee, Franklin, and Michael all exited their respective vehicles and gathered behind a brick wall out of the line of sight of the warehouse.

"My girl's in there," Trevor growled. " _ My _ girl.  _ Not theirs _ !"

"T, don't worry," Michael whispered. "We'll get in there. Who’s the girlfriend?"

Before Trevor could make a biting remark towards Michael and him automatically making the assumption Giselle was his girlfriend, she stepped forward. "Gee, thank you very much. He’s renting a room from me."

"Pleasure,” Michael grunted. “And congrats on not being dead yet. Gee, see if you can find an inconspicuous way in. If we can catch them off guard, maybe we can do this without bloodshed."

"There isn’t fucking  _ time  _ for that!" Trevor nearly shouted, standing up. “Five men, maybe more, maybe  _ alone _ , with  _ my girl _ !? We all are very aware of what this could mean, I’m certain. Fuck waiting!” He shoved his way past Michael and Franklin before they could stop him, burst from his hiding spot, gun in hand, and ran towards the warehouse, screaming bloody murder.

"Trevor, you fuckin’ dumb ass fool!" Franklin called. To his surprise, Michael was already running hot on his heels, assault rifle in hand. He and Giselle shared a dumbfounded look before following suit.

He kicked down the door, and his gaze instantly settled on Wave, tied to a chair at the center of the room, surrounded by ten of them. Her head shot up, deep purple circles under her eyes and a bleeding nose. She didn’t cry out for him, or make any noise at all. She just sat there, tied up, and stared. She could barely comprehend it. There, in full, fucked up glory, was Trevor Philips, proudly waving not one, but two assault rifles.

He yelled, incoherent, furious babble spilling from his lips. He opened fire, and all hell broke loose. Michael and Franklin ran in seconds later, shooting at the gang members themselves. Those that hadn’t been immediately gunned down ran for cover, leaving Wave alone, out in the open as they fended off these new attackers. Gee was there a moment later, and she tried to run in, but was stopped by gunfire her direction. She squeaked as she hid behind the door.

“Stay the fuck back!” Michael commanded her. “This ain’t safe!”

“I have to get Wave!” she shouted back over the gunfire. When there was a break in the firing, she bolted out into the open at full speed, sprinting across the floor, despite screaming from the others to get back, to get the fuck out of there.

Wave barely had time to register what was happening before she and her chair were tackled out of the line of fire, behind some crates not far behind her. The two fell out of Trevor’s sight, and he panicked, but prevented himself from darting after them.

“Michael!” he barked, pointing at the man across the way, “Get Lester on the fucking line! Get him into the security cameras!” Trevor pointed above him, where there was an old camera hanging. The light was blinking red, indicating it was still functional. Michael did so straight away, and within mere minutes, Lester was surveying the fight for himself from the safety and comfort of his own home.

“Giselle!” Trevor shouted over the noise in the direction he’d seen the woman run off to. “You better not be fucking dead, and if my girl’s hurt--”

He gasped as Wave and Gee both ran through the crossfire, ducking this way and that in an attempt to get back to the others waiting for them. Trevor provided the majority of the counter-fire, protecting the two women from being shot, or worse. At long last, they dove behind their cover, next to Trevor. Wave’s head hit noisily against the ground, rattling her, and she groaned from her position. Her skin was as white as snow.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” Trevor chanted as he practically threw down his gun and cradled the girl’s head in his hands. “Wave, Wave, come on Wave, get a hold of yourself.” He patted her cheeks until her eyes regained focus, staring up at him in confusion, before it clicked. There was a mix of relief and horror as she beheld Trevor looking down at her with terror and his own relief.

“It’s okay,” he assured her with a shaking smile. “I found you.”

Trevor left her head in his lap, picking up his gun again. He turned forward again, but before he could get in another shot, a bullet pierced his right shoulder. Roaring his pain, Trevor slid down and clutched the pierced skin, blood slipping from between his fingers.

"Trevor!" Wave cried. She scrambled to grab at his gun, but he held her back with his free hand.

“Stop,” he commanded her, “stop, stop! You’re in no condition--”

"Guys, guys!" Lester said over the phone, "One of them just lit a molotov! Get out of there!"

"Everyone to the right!" Michael shouted. He, Franklin and Gee darted, and Trevor helped Wave to her feet, despite the pulsing pain in his shoulder. As they were crossing to get out of the area, Wave’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she dropped like a sack of rocks, body shaking.

Trevor gasped, and screamed in panic. “No, no no, you fuck, you can’t do this now! What the fuck are you doing!? Get the  _ fuck up _ !” He dragged her with his one good arm, but he wasn’t moving quickly enough. Michael swore, and darted out from his own position.

“Michael!” Franklin shouted, reaching out to stop him.

But the man refused to listen. He took both the girl and Canadian by their arms and dragged them to safety, just as the molotov crashed where they had been before, and the fire spread. Trevor and Michael ducked down together, staring at Waverly’s shaking body without the slightest clue what to do. Trevor turned to Michael.

"Get her somewhere safe!" Trevor yelled. "Don't let her get hit!"

"T, we'll get to her in a second!" Michael exclaimed. "Frank, you'll have to carry Wave out of here as fast as you can when the gunfire dies down. We gotta get her to a hospital!"

"What's happening to Wave!?" Lester exclaimed. “I didn’t catch it on my end. Is she alright?”

"She's been sick for a while," Trevor gasped, trying to stay calm and awake-- he was losing a lot of blood from his shoulder. "She was vomiting and having trouble distinguishing colors, and now there's a  _ fucking seizure  _ I’ve got to deal with, and-- Fucking Christ, I can’t do this!"

Over the phone, Lester began to mutter incoherently to himself, and the shuffling of paper could be heard. “Seizures, temporary color blindness, white border on the irises--”

"The  _ fuck _ are you doing!?” Trevor shouted over the line, firing blindly behind him. “Help me  _ now _ !"

"If her problem is what I think it is, then there is no problem-- this is actually common--"

"No  _ problem _ !?" Michael cried, chucking a grenade. “Fuck, Lester, she’s foaming at the goddamn mouth! How is there no fucking problem!?”

"None whatsoever, if you can believe that. I know, it doesn’t sound right, but, then again, if she isn't what I think she is, then she  _ is _ going to die... but, hey, these symptoms come up at about this time if she is--"

"What are you rambling about?!" Trevor shook the phone as if shaking Lester’s neck, screeching.

"Oh, you know, nothing out of the ordinary, save for the fact that she might be an escaped government experiment."

Stunned silence enveloped the group as they attempted to process the information. He spoke it so suddenly, and so nonchalantly, as if it really was common knowledge. He had to be messing with them. But then again, Lester was hardly ever wrong. And he didn't joke around, especially not in situations like this.

"Fucking  _ what _ !?" Trevor exclaimed, rage bubbling inside of him.

"Look,” Lester said, “I'll explain later-- don’t say a damn thing to her when her episode’s over-- you gotta get out of there _ now _ . They’ve called in backup, and they’re about five minutes out."

"Fuck, you heard ‘im!" Franklin yelled. He scooped Wave into his arms, despite her violent thrashing, and ran out the door, narrowly missing being gunned down. Trevor and Michael followed close behind once they were certain there was enough time between shots that they wouldn’t be killed themselves.

“In the cars,” Michael shouted, gesturing with his whole arm, “In the fucking cars!”

Somewhere along the way, Franklin gave Wave to Trevor, and he cringed inwardly when he saw the whites of her eyes. Her seizure had calmed to a point where she was just violently trembling, rather than giving full body shakes.

The group did as they were told, running to their respective vehicles, but they were being shot at too much to actually get in. They hid behind Michael and Franklin’s vehicles, firing back.

"Left, left, left!" Lester shouted. Trevor answered the call, his bullet piercing his would-be attacker’s head just before he himself would have been shot in his neck.

“We ain’t finna hold out much longer,” Franklin gasped, out of breath. “Let’s fuckin’ wrap this shit up!”

Trevor threw another grenade at a large cluster of them, and they all flew into the air, yelling in agony and falling to their doom. Michael got three consecutive headshots, and Franklin blew up a gas canister near them with a single shot. Those that remained finally took a hint, dropping their weapons and running for the hills.

Trevor's amazement at the fact that they all were still alive and relatively unscathed was short lived, and he dropped to his knees, dropping Waverly, who had stopped shaking.

"Wave! Wavey, baby, open your eyes! It's over now, you're all better, right? Right!? Lester, how the fuck do I wake her up?! Lester!"

“Just wait, wait, Trevor,” he said over the phone, “have patience.”

Everyone else gathered around, staring at the sight of Trevor hunched over the unconscious teen. He shook her lightly.

"Wavey baby, come on, baby, open up your fucking eyes! A-are you breathing? Yeah, ok then, wake up, wake the fuck up! Come on, I’m right here!  _ Waverly, get up you fuck _ !  _ Wave _ ! I swear to fucking God,  _ baby girl _ , don’t you fucking do this to me!"

Michael and Franklin shared a look.  _ Baby girl!? _

“ _ Trevor!” _ Lester shouted over the phone. “Calm the fuck down! She’ll wake up in her own time!” 

But his voice was lost on Trevor’s ears. He began to shake her, fearing for her life. Trevor stopped shaking her, his own shaky breaths becoming too much. He pulled the limp girl into an embrace, sobbing and caressing her back.

“You can’t leave me,” he breathed through his sobbing. “You can’t  _ fucking  _ leave me, I  _ need  _ you, you piece of shit! Wake the fuck up!” He rocked from side to side, smearing the blood from his shoulder wound across her front.

Suddenly, the girl shuddered to life, clutching his shoulders instinctively. Wave cried out, and choked on her own breath, and her arms wrapped around his neck as if it was the last lifeline she had.

“Fuck!” she screamed, and there was a ringing in Trevor’s ears after that, but he didn’t care. Michael and everyone else crouched down around her and Trevor, bombarding her with questions. “ _ Are you alright? _ ” “ _ What happened? _ ” “ _ Do you remember what happened? _ ”

After a minute of regathering her thoughts, she realized where she was, and what was happening. She pushed feebly against Trevor, squirming in his grasp. “Trevor,” she demanded, “let me go. Now.”

“You’re not going  _ anywhere _ ,” he growled, and only held her to him tighter.

“ _ Stop, _ ” she commanded, pushing harder. “You need to let me go, Trevor. I need to-- I have to go...”

The sociopath refused to let the girl go, regardless of how hard she pushed against him. He held her at arm's length, making full eye contact.

“I’m not letting go,” he informed her. “Not now. And not ever. I  _ need  _ you in my life, Wave. I need you in my  _ fucking  _ life. Don’t you get it? Don’t you fucking see? We were  _ made  _ for each other. I need you. And I-- I  _ love  _ you. I love you, baby girl, I love you, I love you…”

And he broke down again, holding her closer to his chest and still rocking from side to side as he held his breath, as if he was afraid that if he breathed too hard, Waverly would evaporate, as if she had never existed.

At his confession, Wave’s body went rigidly still, a sick feeling building in her gut.

“You…  _ what _ ?”

“I love you,” Trevor said without pause, and the world seemed to dissolve, until it was just the two of them, and the road beneath them, and he repeated it, again and again, into her hair, her ear, her neck, against her cheeks and forehead, strong arms refusing to allow her any leeway to move, or barely breathe.

Wave felt defeated. She felt a hopelessness crawling down her back and into the wound that Trevor had so lovingly stitched up only the night before. A hopelessness that she was letting him do these things to her, letting him claim her as his own, with little fight at all. But how could she possibly help herself? Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. No one had ever shown her this much hate or affection, in the same person. Her resolve to keep him at arm’s distance was dissolving, quickly, as she felt his warmth, his love, and his hate.

What was she supposed to do when the only person in the world who cared about her could kill her in a millisecond? What was she supposed to do when the one person in the universe that loved her hated her?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentioned government experimentation, mental and emotional abuse, more creepy Trevor affection.

"Talk, Lester. Speak, explain, anything!"

Trevor clenched the edges of Lester’s bed, his shoulder still throbbing from the bullet wound. The bullet had been removed and the skin stitched and patched, but it didn’t lessen the pain all that much. Things could have been much worse if the bullet had hit his shoulder, but to his fortune, it did not. Wave was spending the day with Franklin before being dropped off back at Gee’s apartment, which left him the day to talk with Lester about his comment a week before. About Wave potentially being a government experiment. 

Lester sat across from him in the doorway, obviously just as eager to share information as Trevor was to receive it. He sat in his wheelchair, hands clasped together

"Better make yourself comfortable, because this will take some lengthy explaining."

"Whatever it takes. I need to know just what the fuck you’re talking about, and why the hell she didn’t tell me."

Lester shook his head. "T, the problem isn't that she didn’t tell you, it’s that she potentially doesn't know, it's that I may be wrong; but, there's a good possibility-"

"Lester, really, come on! Just tell me what you’ve found."

"Alright, alright. I’ll explain it in a way that you can understand, sans the scientific jargon." Lester settled back, laptop in hand, and began to speak.

 

* * *

 

 

_ A _ _ bout twenty years ago, there were some unconfirmed reports of the FIB performing inhumane experiments on some most wanted prisoners, extracting their DNA and using their better traits to produce super humans through selective breeding. Of course, these rumors were quickly disbanded, and the public quickly forgot in favor of more recent scandals, like what stars were getting in whose pants, and what dramatic shooting would be the highlight of increasing gun regulations that year.  Now, being the hacking genius that I am, I managed, one fine summer day, to get into the FIB database. I found some things I'd rather not repeat, never in a million years. Normally, this would be among those, but for your sake, Trevor, I’ll indulge you. _

_ These reports were true; there were pictures, audio files and videos documenting the entire phenomena. The mothers, being criminals themselves, typically didn't care what happened to the embryos. They were promised money and, whether the fetus survived or not, they'd get it. From the moment of conception-- and they were test-tube babies, raised outside of the womb so as to disband potential maternal attachment-- to the moment of “birth”, these babies were having steroids and other performance enhancing drugs pumped into them. Only a fourth of the babies survived that portion of the experiment. _

_ As for the kids themselves, they were isolated from the outside world, instead being able to only interact with their caretakers and other super-kids. Well, if you could call them that. A lot of them had mental and physical disabilities, and the FIB offed them as soon as they could. There wasn’t room in the program for the mentally and physically unfit. It was a mass culling-- they wanted the perfect soldier to replicate, and they were going to find it. _

_ The kids who weren't disabled in any shape or form tended to have anxiety issues and were jumpy and... well, pretty much afraid of everything. No amount of therapy seemed to help them; it was in their blood from all of the drugs they were given. That got rid of another half of them, which left only about a hundred kids left. I know, seems like not too bad of a number for an experiment like this. They started off with  _ eight hundred kids _ , Trevor. _

_ The kids that didn't have anxiety and weren't handicapped tended to be extremely aggressive, and they sometimes killed each other. They had no second thoughts. The scientists behind the experiment discovered that these genetically enhanced kids had a difficult time forming attachments to things or people. They had absolutely no remorse for their actions. This was actually exactly what they wanted. A child with little to no emotion would be quick to listen, learn and comply, right? Wrong. _

_ They were the exact opposite. When told to do anything, something triggered in their brains that urged them to do the opposite. Another trait these kids all shared besides for being forced recluses was that approximately every four years, they all would, at the same time, suffer from a mysterious, incurable illness that resulted in temporary confusion and increase in intelligence and physical strength. The symptoms were nausea, weakness in the legs, increased sensitivity, complaints of seeing bright, vivid colors that weren't there and, in worse cases, seizures. All of the kids suffered from this and they named it after the first subject they studied with it: Batch 047. _

_ By the time the scientists had picked out all the bad apples, there were only four left. _ Four _ , out of eight  _ hundred _. How our government can get away with such things is beyond me. These kids were not called by their names, but by their hair color. Red was a boy who was a tad too eager to comply with commands. He was athletic, according to his file, and always happy. He was the only one who met a happy end; the FIB actually gave him to foster care, and he made it to a good home. The next kid, Brown, was a shy girl, but not anxiety- ridden. She listened to the FIB very well, unless it came to something messy like killing. She wouldn't do it, and they eventually just trapped her in a computer room alone, where she performs much of their under the table hacking operations, and that's likely where she'll be when she dies. White was an unusual girl; she had an extreme glasses prescription, her hair, obviously, was white, and she would not stop growing. It was never harmful to her health, but she was an astounding eight feet before the labs decided she wasn't needed anymore. _

_ This last girl... well, I don't want to make any assumptions, but… Jet Black was the most successful subject of all eight hundred. Despite her anger management issues, she performed excellently, complying with everything the FIB asked of her. She was fantastically agile, strong, and intelligent. As a matter of fact... she was too intelligent.  _

_ At the age of seven, she picked the lock to her room and wandered the halls unnoticed for about ten minutes. It was enough to peak her curiosity and suspicion. There was a world outside of her room and the testing chambers that she wasn’t privy to. She wanted to learn more. At ten, the girl hacked into the FIB database herself, finding out about the outside world and other projects, but never about her own. Afterwards, she was always bitter and angry. She knew they were hiding something from her, and she wanted in. When she was eleven, she devoted her skills to breaking out of her comfy little cell and emerging into the real world. Time and time again she was thwarted, but she eventually made it out. She was caught after committing her first murder: a harmless boy her age who was simply curious about where she had come from, which she took great offense to, having never engaged in regular conversation in the past. _

_ That's when the FIB decided it was time to get rid of their prize and last subject. It was a job well done, and they knew what to do with the next batch, so they didn't need her anymore. To trick her into a sense of security, the scientists told her that they were done trying to off her, but that they wanted to relocate her to Hawaii. This she eagerly agreed to, as Hawaii seemed to fascinate her from what she’d discovered via her hacking.  _

_ So, they shipped her off of the Los Santos shoreline and, when she was far away enough, detonated the boat. They searched the wreckage for days, but there were no signs of human remains. They assumed the best, and closed the case, declaring Jet Black dead. Of course, I personally think it was a hasty decision on their part, but I'm not the government. They probably have their theories and reasons. But, there is a few last pointers that really makes me think Waverly is Jet Black come back from the land of the dead.  _

_ Jet black wasn't the only one to be a clever little escape artist. There were many children going for joy walks on a daily basis. Sometimes, it took weeks to find them though. To counteract this problem, each child was implanted with a small microchip in their left arm, with approximately a three inch allowance. Some of these stopped working after a few years, but not all of the kids were tested for functionality. Not only that, but the kids were performed on while they were awake. Being surrounded by ten doctors while one cuts into your arm could be a good reason to develop claustrophobia.  _

_ I’ve seen her arm scar, Trevor. It’s in the exact location it would have been if she had been a part of all this; the same length, too. That weird white line around her iris and pupil is another indicator. I mean, how many people do you know that have eyes like that? Something about all those drugs getting pumped into her system disrupted any color pigments from reaching her pupil and the border of her iris, hence the white rings. But, though this is all fact, I could be completely wrong. Wave might have nothing to do with this. But, if the slipper fits... _

 

* * *

 

 

Trevor shook his head, still trying to digest the onslaught of information.

"That's just... I can’t believe it. I just can’t fuckin’ believe it," he mumbled. “The odds, they’ve got to be so fuckin’ low, Lester. But at the same time…”

Lester grunted and wheeled his chair back to his desktop. “Look for yourself,” he said to Trevor as he opened some saved files on the computer that wasn’t connected to the internet. Trevor stood from Lester’s bed and walked over, crouching over Lester as he stared at the screen.

Lester had opened a file-- the similarities in appearance alone made his breath falter. Subject 696. Jet Black. Long black hair, blue eyes with white halos. It was the lip scar that gave it away. Waverly.

There was no doubt in Trevor’s mind that it was her. He curled his fingers into the back of Lester’s wheelchair and ground his teeth together.

“She told me,” he seethed, “that she didn’t remember where she was from.”

“She might not,” Lester replied. “Might have hit her head somewhere in the blast when the ship she was on blew up. What did she tell you was the first thing she remembered?”

Trevor wracked his brain for a second.

“The beach,” he told Lester. “And rain. And that asshole Beverley that enlisted her in her gang.”

Lester held out his arms. “The beach. She probably washed up on shore after the ship blew up. It’s a miracle she didn’t drown if she was unconscious all that time.”

“It sure was,” the sociopath muttered. He shook his head, and stood up. Lester turned to face him.

"They say this is a free country, Trevor. How are we free if we can't even share truths willingly? How can we be free if we are oppressed with lies and ignorance? How can we trust our own government if they don’t tell us about everything that’s going on. This country is not the worst, but it's far from the best."

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Oh yeah? Well, you’re in luck. Neither would she.”

Lester turned back to his computer after pressing the button that unlocked the front door, signalling to Trevor that it was time to leave. Without any semblance of a farewell, he marched out of the room and out into the Los Santos winter sunshine.

 

* * *

 

 

Gee combed the little bit of dyed hair that Wave had mindlessly, watching the T.V. with keen eyes. Wave sat in front of her on the floor, loading up clips of ammunition without so much as glancing down at her hands. There was only a second interval between each bullet pressed into its place, a speed that even Trevor could barely match. Both of the girls were watching the screen with rapt attention.

Trevor walked in to the apartment, and before he could greet the girls, he was met with a choir of shushes, and Gee turned up the volume to the television. “Listen,” she commanded.

_ "... this new gang that has emerged seemingly from nowhere has been targeting several hotels and apartment complexes at random, and their members are never seen. All that we know is that they prefer to identify themselves as the 'Urban Tigers'. Their insignia consists of a paw within the toe of another paw, one or the other always being red in color. Whether this has any symbolic significance, we are not sure yet--" _

Wave switched off the T.V, looking exhausted, defeated. "They're looking for us again," she whispered. She looked up at Trevor with tired eyes. Her recovery from her sudden illness had been quick; now her defeatist attitude was due to the resurgence of the Urban Tigers. 

On top of that, she now barely had a moment to herself. Trevor always had her within arm’s reach, always in calling range, and the chokehold he had on her freedom yet again was suffocating. Of course, she found herself caring less than the first few months she’d been stuck with him, but the thought that she needed to  _ get out of there _ lingered. She knew Trevor was dangerous. She knew that Trevor could turn on a dime and slit her throat, but she began caring less and less. Even now as she looked up at him, all she could feel was an uneasy warmth spread through her, her mind and body slowly being trained-- being conditioned-- to accept Trevor Philips’ presence as a sign of safety; perhaps even as a necessity.

Trevor took a seat next to her on the floor after swatting Gee’s hands away from her head, to which the woman gave a discontented huff, and flipped herself over the head of the couch into the kitchen. He swung an arm over Wave’s shoulder, leaning his head into hers with his mind still reeling from Lester's conversation.

"We have to take them down," Trevor added. "All of them. I don't care how, or why, but I think death would be a sweet release for those kids. And if I ever lay eyes on that Beverley bitch… oh, you don’t want to know the things I’d do to her."

"I’m sure I don’t. But when, and how?" Wave asked.

"I'll…” Trevor pursed his lips. “I’ll figure something out. I won't let them hurt you again. You’re safe with me, Wave. I promise."

“Sure.” She looked away from him, and he took her chin in his left hand, forcing her to look at him. Their faces were so close together, she could almost taste his breath.

“I  _ mean  _ it,” he growled. “And I swear to fucking God, if you  _ ever  _ leave me again, I will hunt you down, faster than before, and lock you away so you can never leave again. You will never leave whatever house we’re in without my permission. I will  _ handcuff  _ you to the bed, just like before, and you won’t be going fucking anywhere. You. Are.  _ Mine _ .”

“I am my  _ own  _ person,” Wave snarled, pushing back from him until she was out of his reach. “I will do what I fucking want, Trevor!”

“You  _ can’t  _ leave me,” he barked, leaping over and tackling her down. He held her pinned underneath him, arms above her head and growling into her throat and her ear. “You  _ belong  _ to me. You are  _ mine  _ to do what I want with, and I  _ need  _ you, and I  _ love  _ you. Why can’t you fucking see that? Why can’t you _ fucking  _ see that?!”

Waverly sighed through her nose, closing her eyes tight. No one had spoken those words to her before him, and she found herself slipping farther and farther into his void-like grasp as he whispered them to her now. She didn’t understand. Why him? Why did she let him do such horrible things to her, despite knowing how dangerous and toxic he was?

Then his arms were around her, bringing her back up to a sitting position and hugging her, and she remembered and shuddered as she lost her resolve to keep him away, arms wrapping around his neck as she relaxed, and sighed.

“You can’t leave me,” he repeated.

She sounded so defeated. 

“I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

It had begun to snow as Trevor and Wave began to sift through the remains of his trailer, at long last after so much time away. They both wore thick coats, warding off the unusual cold, and their gloves became stained not only with dirty snow, but with old soot and ash too. The forecast had warned them of this, but still, most everyone in Sandy Shores was taken by surprise by the sudden shift in weather. Some more so by the sudden return of Trevor Philips, though none of them actually went to greet him back into the neighborhood.

"You really think we're going to find something here?" Wave huffed as she threw a rather large piece of plastic from the wreckage, shivering.

"Positive. No one knows about this but me, and now, you. I stored a lot of it here after..." He, too, threw a large clump of rubble and began to sift through the now exposed dirt as he trailed off. "It's here somewhere..."

After a few minutes, his hand hit something different from the ashes and the plastic and glass, and he gasped excitedly. “Here, here,” he said to her excitedly, and they cleared away the remaining rubble around it. With all the strength he could muster, he pulled up a well buried trap door, revealing piles upon piles of money in airtight plastic bags.

Wave gaped at the sight, her jaw reluctant to close. "Where the fuck did you get all this!?"

"Uh, maybe a year ago? I don’t remember, I bury shit and then I forget about it, like a dog. This isn’t even all of it-- some of it’s in the bank. We didn’t come here to grab this earlier because I was afraid of the Urban Tigers getting on our asses, but I think we’re well enough under the radar now. Well, a while back, me and the boys made the greatest heist of our lives. We stole from the Union Depository." Trevor placed his hands on his hips and stared down into the pit, beaming.

Waverly stared at Trevor with reluctant reverence. "That was  _ you _ !?"

"Yep, all three of us, and then some others. See, back then, I was just in this stuff for the kicks. For the thrill, the rush. It was just fun. I didn't care about the money. I was in it for the thrill, the, uh, exhilarating feeling of, uh... uncertainty, I guess. But, as of late, my beliefs have been... shaken." He began to pile the money into a bag. "I’ve got to take care of you now. You’re my top priority. I have to do everything in my power to keep you safe and sound. We’ll use this when the Urban Tigers go away, get us a nice house up in the Vinewood hills somewhere. Somewhere where you’ll be safe."

"Trevor," Wave said softly, “there’s--”

"A lot of cash, I know. Don't worry, I brought more than one bag." He pointed behind him back in the general direction of the truck.

"No, not that, fucktard." She put her hands in her pockets and huffed, breath condensing in the cool air. She couldn’t believe what she was about to say, but it was a last effort plan to get away from Trevor before things progressed any farther or got any worse between them. “I have to ask a favor of you. It’s important.”

Trevor dropped the money he was holding instantly and grasped her wrist, looking up at her from his crouched position on the ground. "Of course, anything, what is it?"

Wave took a deep breath. This was going to be difficult.

"I’m tired, Trevor. I’m tired of this fighting and this running. I don’t want to do it anymore. I want to find my parents. I want to know where I came from and if I could ever fit back in. I want to  _ remember _ . And I want to get Lester’s help."

All the man could do was stare as he tried to think of a reason not to. At least, a reason he could tell her that wouldn’t cause conflict. How was he supposed to tell her she was a government experiment? That she had no definitive parents? That even if they did find her parents, that he wouldn’t let her go, because she was his-- property of Trevor Philips? He couldn’t tell her that. He knew it wouldn’t go over well. He had to keep her in the dark. For her safety. After finding nothing, he sighed, and continued throwing the cash in the bags. Instead of telling her why she shouldn’t, he was going to tell her why  _ he  _ thought she shouldn’t.

"Waverly, you've been with me for... uh, fuck, four months now? Five? Hmm. Well, fuck it, that's besides the point. First of all, I want to tell you about my parents. Uh, take a walk with me, if you will."

He stood up from his spot, closing the trap door and locking it, then tossing the bags into the back of his truck. He waved the girl over with his hand, and when she was next to him, tossed his arm over her shoulder as he began to speak.

"When I was born, I might as well have been a fucking dog, or even better, a stray. My parents couldn't give very many fucks about me if they tried. My dad abandoned me in a shopping mall, and my mom was... uh, condescending, you could say. Then, of course, there were my anger issues. Other kids, they uh... didn't really see me as an equal. I had to fight my way through my childhood life. I was expelled pretty quickly from any school I was put in. And, well, that evoked more scorn from mommy, and, well, it was just a great big fucking circle of life. She kicked me out of the house as soon as she could. One less mouth to feed for her. So I went to Air Force school to learn how to fly planes. I was damn good at it, and I would have graduated too if they hadn't kicked me out for... 'unruly behavior.'"

"What are you trying to tell me, Trevor?" Wave inquired, eyes narrowed.

The man glanced at her tiredly. "You wanna find your family? Well, be careful what you wish for. I stuck around with mine, and look how they treated me. If yours don't even hold on to you, or ain’t even trying to look for you, well..." He moved his hands like he was weighing things between them. “Might not be the best idea, don’t you think? Maybe you’re better off sticking with me-- someone that actually gives a damn about you, and is willing to protect you. Those assholes left you for dead, right? What do you have to gain from going after them?”

Wave looked down at her ratty sneakers as she walked. "I don’t know. Resolution? Answers? Look, Trevor, how many times do you think I've thought about that? I'm prepared for anything."

He stared at her, stifling a choke.  _ No. Not _ anything.

After, they remained staring at each other, unsure of what to say or do. She held her ground against his stare, jaw clenching and unclenching and cold blue eyes daring him to make a move. Trevor had to hold back his chuckling at that. Even after all this time, she still found it in herself to show defiance at his very existence.  A cold gust of wind was the only thing to break the silence as they continued to walk around the crummy neighborhood, and the snow stopped falling.

Trevor stopped short, but the teen was too deep in her jacket trying to stay warm to notice. She did stop when something hit her back, and she turned to find Trevor holding crudely made snowballs and grinning widely.

Wave frowned. “Really? You want to have a snowball fight? That’s for babies.”

“Ooh,” Trevor drew out, “I’m sorry, I thought you had a pair. I didn’t think you were  _ chicken _ .” He threw another one and ran, laughing in his own coat and dropping snowballs in his wake.

“Oh, you mother--” Wave looked around at the ground around her, scooping up her own chunks of snow and chasing after Trevor with fire in her eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Trevor chased her around the wreckage of the trailer on heavy feet, huffing with exertion and fatigue, his energy failing him in the cold weather and uneven terrain.

"Ooooh,  _ Waverly _ ! When I get my hands on you..!"

“You’re not touching me,” she taunted lightly, lips stretched in a smile as she danced around him, always just out of reach as she tossed her own snowballs at him aiming right at his head and heart with each throw. “You might as well give up, fucker.”

“No, no no no,” he sneered playfully, “I ain’t givin’ up on you. I  _ will  _ catch you, swear to God. Just-- hey, c’mere!”

Wave continued to waltz around him, and he continued to stumble after her, gradually growing more and more frustrated. Eventually, however, she tripped over a rock she hadn’t seen before. She fell back in the snow, light hair spreading out beneath her as she snorted and snickered. Then, he was looming over her, sprinkling snow all over her exposed face. Wave squealed, and covered her face with her arms to the best of her ability.

“Stop!” she shouted, kicking in the ground to scoot away from him, but Trevor just dropped a massive snowball on her head. Wave choked on the excess snow, rolling over to shake off the ice and water from her face.

“I win,” Trevor beamed, grinning from ear to ear as he sat down next to her. Trevor pulled Wave into an embrace, inhaling her scent deeply. She didn't smell like smoke, like everything else in Los Santos. She smelled clean and... well, human. He loved her natural scent. He loved the way her smaller body felt in his embrace. Most of all, he loved to feel the beating of her heart in her chest.

Wave had ceased to struggle against his signs of affection, but that didn't mean she received them. It was more something to be endured rather than cherished and returned. She realized that she couldn’t fight Trevor Philips when he wanted something like this. She had to endure. She had to stay strong, let him take what he wanted until he had had enough. Her back ached slightly when his hand grazed over the healing scars on her shoulder blade, but overall, she was healing nicely.

"Oh, Wave," he mumbled, his breath hot and loud in her shoulder. "What am I gonna do with you?"

Wave gulped, and tensed, attempting to curl in on herself, but Trevor left her no room to even do that. Her mind returned to the request she’d given him minutes ago, and she choked it back out to remind him.

“I do want to find them,” she told him quietly. “My parents. Can we please get Lester to help? Can we please-- I just need to know why we were separated. That’s all.”

Trevor sighed, fingers curling tightly into her coat as his breath turned into a growl.

“If they don’t want you, then you’re  _ mine _ \--”

“I just want to  _ know _ . Promise me, Trevor.  _ Promise _ .”

Annoyed, he unhooked his head from around her neck and looked down at her condescending gaze. There was something so prominent in her expression that he couldn’t place a finger on, that he couldn’t find it in himself to deny her this one request. He would make an  _ attempt _ . A very shitty one, since he knew the truth, and where it would lead if he got too far.

“I promise,” he said, staring her dead in the eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates. It's literally just me being lazy and forgetting to upload.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael implies that he thinks Trevor and Wave's relationship may be incestuous. Not sure if that really qualifies as a warning but I thought I would mention it anyways.

Michael grunted as he readjusted his watch on his left wrist, staring out at the street from his front porch. In the process, a sharp corner cut his wrist and he began to bleed. He wasn't paying attention. He had more pressing matters on his mind than whether he needed to get his watch repaired or not. Besides, it’d been a gift from Tracey, and she expected him to wear it today. Surprisingly enough, the watch matched Michael’s tastes, so he wore it with pride. But he wasn’t thinking about that now. He was thinking up all the potential scenarios where things could go horribly wrong for Thanksgiving dinner.

Trevor and Wave were coming over for dinner.

He was incredibly nervous.  _ Extremely  _ nervous. He'd never thought those words would come out of his mouth when he called Trevor the other night. "Do you and Wave want to spend Thanksgiving with us?" he had asked. He needed no prompting from Amanda, or his kids-- it had come out of his mouth of its own accord, and he hadn’t the slightest clue why, or how, only that it had happened, and he couldn’t just take it back. There were no take-backs with Trevor Philips. He began to ponder why he could have said that, and his mind drifted to Wave. Maybe it had been because he was concerned for her. She had little freedom lately-- he hardly saw her around anymore, and was barely able to get her away from Trevor to talk with her alone. Maybe that was it. Or maybe it was that it was an excuse to see Trevor and Wave. Make certain that they were alright. Michael wasn’t certain what his own motives were anymore.

And now, here he was, pacing anxiously at the edge of his front porch, anticipating the psycho and his prisoner. Well, that was harsh terminology, but in a sense, Michael assured himself, it was true. Trevor rarely let Wave out of his sight anymore, and made certain that they did almost everything together, almost like he was dragging around a dog on a leash. They touched each other a lot, and Michael assumed it was some sort of reassuring system. Trevor poked her more often, as if trying to convince himself that she was still there and not a hallucination. She only touched him when something seemed to startle her-- she would cling to his arm like a scared, small child, and then, as if realizing her own actions, would promptly let him go and move on as if nothing had happened. It was a troubling, if not startling, sign of the direction their relationship was taking.

At long last, the red truck pulled into the driveway, blonde and balding persons in tow. Wave sat looking disgruntled and distant, while Trevor looked just like he always did-- on edge, and ready to pounce at the first sign of danger.

"What took you so long!?" Michael cried. "Dinner's almost ready!"

“Blah blah blah, bitch bitch bitch,” Trevor mocked him as he stepped out of the driver’s seat. Wave followed close behind him, the slightest smile curling the corners of her lips as her gaze switched between Michael and Trevor as they spoke.

“Uhuh, go fuck yourself.” Michael smiled at Wave, waving her along with his entire arm. “How you doin’?” he asked her. “It’s been a bit, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she laughed lightly, “I guess it has. Been keeping busy keeping low. You know how it is.”

“Right, right,” he agreed, holding open the door for the both of them as they stepped inside. “Trev been treatin’ ya good though, right?”

“I treat her just  _ fine _ , Mikey,” the Canadian sneered.

Michael rolled his eyes. “That’s great,” he agreed, “but I wasn’t askin’ you. I was askin’ Wave. Kid, are you alright?”

Wave’s smile fell, and she looked off to the side, picking and choosing her words carefully, like grapes for fine wine. “We’re doing fine,” she lied through her teeth. “We’re… getting by. Together. More or less.”

Michael frowned, glance darting between the two of them. “Together,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” she assured him. “Living with Gee isn’t so bad, you know. She has her moments, but she mostly lets me and Trevor be. We’ve got our own lives, and she’s got hers.”

“Where do ya sleep?”

Wave cringed, and looked down at her feet. “With Trevor.”

“There ain’t room anywhere else,” the Canadian cut in.

Both she and Trevor knew that Michael wasn’t satisfied with that answer, but before they could draw out the conversation further, Tracey ran down the stairs to greet Waverly, beaming.

“Oh. My God, hey!” Tracey exclaimed, wrapping Waverly in a tight hug after finding no strange smells on her person. “Oh, I’ve freakin’ missed you, girl! You’re looking fantastic, by the way! I love your hair-- blonde, like,  _ really  _ brings out the blue in your eyes. Come on, come on, Mom’s been waiting for, like, forever now. Come on, come on!” And she took Wave by her arm, despite her meek protests and pleading glances shot Michael and Trevor’s way.

Michael just smiled after them and waved sweetly while Trevor laughed, before Michael glared at Trevor, and Trevor, in turn, gave Michael a warning scowl.

“If Tracey lays a single ill-willed finger on my girl, I will  _ not  _ be a happy camper.”

Michael cringed, and scratched at the back of his head.

“Right. Your girl. About that…”

Trevor raised an eyebrow. “What the hell’s that supposed to be leading in to?”

“Trevor,” Michael said, leaning against the wall, “You know that you can’t--” Then, he lowered his voice, as if he was afraid to be heard. “You know that we can’t hold on to her forever. She’s got her own life to live. Her own places to go. She’s still got plans, T. And starting so young-- this isn’t where she should be. This isn’t the life she should be leading. Father-daughter connection or no, this isn’t the right life for her.”

The sociopath growled out his distaste at the thought.

“Whatever she wants to do,” he spoke in a low, menacing tone, “she can do with me by her side. There isn’t anythin’ she can’t do without me, but I’m gonna fucking be there.”

“She doesn’t  _ belong  _ to you, Trevor!” Michael exclaimed softly. “And I’m not sure I’m too fond of the fact that you’re brainwashing her into thinking she don’t got a choice in the matter!”

“Michael, this ain’t like Patricia Madrazo, alright? She don’t got anybody but me! She doesn’t have anywhere to go back to, no one waiting to greet her with open arms-- I’m all Wave has in her life. She  _ needs  _ me. I can’t let her go to suffer all on her own out there. I can give her what she needs. I can  _ provide  _ for her. I can make sure she’s safe.”

“Safe from the dangers of the world? Oh, that’s fucking rich,” Michael scoffed. “She was doin’ fine on her own. Granted, her situation still sucked, but she was alright with it. She knew what she wanted and where she was going, and then you and her met like two meteorites on a fuckin’ collision course, and everything she knew was shattered in a goddamn instant. You don’t fuckin’ get it, do you? You’re smothering the damn kid, Trevor! Jesus, nothing ever changes with you, does it? At this point, I don’t know what she needs protecting from-- the world, or from  _ you _ .”

Trevor stepped back, appalled.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “You heard me. You may have her fooled, but I know what’s going on. I see the way you look at her. The way you talk to her, pet her head like she’s something precious. You know what I fucking think?”

“I don’t  _ want  _ to know what you think,” Trevor sneered.

“I think,” Michael continued, “that there’s something deeper under the surface between you two. Something unspoken. Something I don’t think I’d be okay with. What are you doing to her, Trevor?”

“I don’t know  _ what  _ you’re implying,” Trevor barked out, “but I think I have an idea, and I think I want you to stop. Right. Now.”

“You gotta answer me this, Trevor,” Michael demanded, stepping closer to the Canadian and furrowing his brow down at him in unmasked concern and anger. “What does she mean to you? What’s so important about her that you just can’t let her go? What makes her different from everyone else? And what do you plan to do with her once she gives up on fighting you? You’ll get bored.”

“Christ, Townley, you think this is some sort of sick game to me?”

“That’s  _ exactly  _ what I think! You’re trying to wrangle her in.  _ Tame  _ her, like she’s some sort of wild animal, but she’s  _ not _ , Trevor! And what are you going to do when she stops fighting you? What are you going to be vying for next? Her unconditional affection? What are you gonna do, make her bow down, call you her lordship? Make her call you  _ dad? _ ”

Trevor jammed his forearm into Michael’s chest, pinning him against the wall and snarling like a rabid animal.

“She is worth more to me that a fucking  _ servant _ !” he spat into Michael’s face. “I cannot be without her, Michael! She’s a part of me now, a part of my whole fucking world. Without her, I don’t have anything!”

Michael gulped, green eyes dull and tired.

“So she’s my replacement then.”

Trevor blinked. Michael continued.

“She’s my replacement, because I made one bad mistake you ain’t ever gonna forgive me for. What are you gonna do if she does the same? What are you gonna do if she starts caring about herself and what  _ she  _ needs for once?”

Trevor trembled, before taking a step back. Just then, Amanda peered around the corner at them, frowning.

“Are you two done catching up yet? The turkey’s starting to get cold.”

Michael and Trevor didn’t take their eyes off of each other, continuing in an unspoken argument, almost telepathic in nature. After a time, it was Michael that tore his eyes away, smiling sweetly at Amanda.

“Yeah, babe,” he said, and he gave her a peck on the cheek as he walked up to her. “Sorry about that. You know how involved Trevor and I get in our conversations. T, you coming?”

Trevor stared up at Michael at the bottom of the two-step stairway into the kitchen, hardly being able to believe that Michael could say things like that to him. Wave wasn’t going to leave him. He wasn’t going to let her go anywhere. And if she made a “mistake” like Michael did, then he was going to deal with it before she could escape. He wasn’t going to let himself get blindsided again.

He faked his best grin up at Michael and Amanda.

“Thanksgiving dinner,” he told the two of them, “is something I wouldn’t miss for anything.”

 

* * *

 

 

She sat back with her stomach fuller than she could remember in her entire life, almost to the point of being nauseous. She lay back on the couch, a contented smile gracing her features as her pale hands rested on her stomach. The house was warm, which added to her sleepiness, and she nearly purred in satisfaction. Her mood wasn’t even soured when Trevor joined her, scooping her into his lap and nuzzling into the hair at the nape of her neck with his own happy sigh. She shuffled farther down, until his chin was resting on top of her head, laying back against his left shoulder.

Somehow, she couldn’t think of anywhere else she would want to be at that current moment. Wave turned her head in towards his chest, his sternum, and her eyes widened in surprise when she heard his heartbeat against her ear. The low, systematic thumping threw her off guard. She held her breath to hear it. She almost felt as if her heart stuttered and stopped, then started again, just to match the beating of his.

Some football team was duking it out with some rival group on the T.V. That’s how it always was on Thanksgiving, even though no one paid any attention to it. No one cared who was losing or who was winning-- it was just background noise, a way to drown out the silence should familial conversation die out. It seemed to happen quite often in this house.

“Need anything?” His voice rumbled through her system, vibrating to her very core.

Wave pondered it a second.

“I’m okay,” she told him.

There was yelling in the kitchen. It sounded like Tracey and Amanda, with a few quips from Jimmy. Seconds later, Michael rushed into the room with a plate of pie, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

“Nope,” he repeated like a mantra, “not doin’  _ that  _ today. Nope.”

Trevor snickered at him, resting an arm on the top of the couch, the other wrapped around Waverly’s waist. Michael sat at the other far end of the couch, giving Trevor a sideways glare before returning to his pie. He was about to take the first bite, but just then, his phone rang.

“Ah, Christ,” Michael muttered. He dug the device out of his pocket, waving it at Trevor. “It’s Franklin,” he informed him.

“Well, pick it up,” Trevor replied.

Michael did as Trevor commanded, answering the call, but not before getting up and leaving the room. A few moments of silence passed, before Michael came back in, smiling broadly.

“Frank says there’s a cash truck just down the block from here right now, waiting for the picking. They lost a tire and they’re waiting for a new one, so it’s just sitting there. I say if you guys want to be a part of it, be my guest-- that’s why he called, was to invite us. I’m gonna stick around here-- Amanda would kick my ass if I left.”

Trevor hummed in slight interest, glancing down at Wave.

“Well? What do you think?”

She shrugged. She was comfortable and conflicted, knowing that if she continued to sit here, then she’d fall further into his trap, but if she got up, she would lose this feeling of contentedness, this feeling of belonging that she had never experienced before and only felt with him, him, of all people. Trevor fucking Philips.

In the end, Trevor made the decision for her. He pushed her up and off of him, though she remained limp for a moment, before regaining her wits and standing of her own accord.

“Get up,” he commanded her, “we’re making a quick buck. Come on, get up, get in the truck. We’ll meet Franklin down there. Mikey can stay here and keep being the fat fuck that he is.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Michael shot at Trevor.

“I always do,” the Canadian replied as he marched around the corner and out Michael’s front door. Wave trailed uncertainly behind him. Just as she was about to leave, there was a hand at her shoulder, and she turned to face the man who had grabbed her, Michael.

“Listen,” he whispered, holding her shoulder firmly, “what’s he doin’ to you? What’s happenin’ to you?”

Wave looked confused, almost dazed. “What?”

Michael sighed as his heart dropped.

“He’s not good for you, kid,” he told her. “The dynamic you got ain’t normal, and it ain’t healthy. You gotta get the hell outta here, before it’s too late. I know how Trevor functions. I know what he’s doing to you. The physical abuse, the mental manipulation. All of it. Pretty soon, it’s gonna change to something no one’s gonna like, least of all, you. He’s sick. He’s twisted. He--”

Michael gulped.

“He’s really going to hurt you. I know from… personal experience.”

Wave turned slowly to face him. “What are you talking about, Michael?”

He took both of her shoulders into his hands.

“Trevor takes what he wants. He takes what he wants, and he manipulates you into thinking it’s something you’ll want, too. This weird relationship thing? You don’t really want this. I know you don’t. You want to get out of here, get the fuck away from him, right? This isn’t the life you chose. You have a chance now, Wave-- right now, you have to chance to  _ choose _ .”

Wave peeled Michael’s hands off of her, and took a hesitant step back.

“No,” she said, though it didn’t seem like her own voice. “No, Trevor-- Trevor cares about me. He just wants to protect me.”

“But is he doin’ it for you?” Michael asked quietly, “Or is he doin’ it for himself?”

She looked confused again, blinking dazedly.

“He thinks he needs you,” Michael explained. “He thinks that you’re nothing without him, that he’s your guardian angel or something and that you owe everything to him. You listen to me-- you don’t owe him a damn thing. If… if things get bad, you come here. You come straight here, and we’ll protect you.”

“But…” Wave screwed up her face. “But he likes me.”

There was an impatient tap from Trevor’s truck horn outside, causing the both of them to jump. She was turning to leave, but Michael stopped her one last time to whisper in her ear.

“Just don’t let your guard down around him anymore. He’s planning something bad. What it is, I don’t know what, but he’s been acting  _ weird _ . Like he’s planning something real fucking bad. Don’t let him get the jump on you.”

Waverly yanked herself away from Michael, looking him up and down with her blue eyes, before turning to rush down the steps towards Trevor. Michael stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, feeling a sense of hopelessness. She was already lost. She was already his, and he knew it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do y’all see it?” Franklin asked the two of them as he pointed at the disabled vehicle from quite a distance away. “Jus’ sittin’ right there.”

Trevor and Wave both nodded their affirmative. “Yep, we see it. Just sittin’ there, ripe for the picking.” The Canadian rubbed his hands together eagerly, scarred lips quirking into a wide grin. Wave grinned along with him.

“This should be easy,” she said to them. “Just walk past, toss a bomb under the back doors and call it a day. Piece of cake, right? Should be.”

“Fuckin’ should be,” Franklin agreed. “I say T should take out them guards there so we ain’t gettin’ shot at while we taking the cash.”

“Well,” Trevor snickered, “ain’t you a special boy? You think that up all on your own?”

“Nigga,” the black man barked, “I don’t see you doin’ much thinkin’ at the current moment.”

“Well fuck, if you’re the mastermind here,  _ you _ shoot the fucking guards,” Trevor countered quickly, shoving a sniper rifle into Franklin’s hands. He fumbled with the device, nearly dropping it, before getting his hands around it at long last. He shook his head, executing the two guards with two clean, quiet shots, as there was a silencer at the end of the weapon.

Wave and Trevor rushed into action instantly. She took a bomb from him, throwing it at the back door and detonating it instantly. The doors flew open from the force of the explosion, and they grabbed the bags-- two to each of them. Franklin hurried over with a van they’d stolen, and they catapulted themselves in, and he floored the gas pedal to drive away as fast as they could.

“Damn,” Franklin whistled as he looked behind them. “That was fuckin’ easy.”

Wave smirked as she looked down at the bags of money. “Sure was. Should we share with Michael?”

“No, fuck that!” Trevor nearly shouted. “He didn’t do shit. He doesn’t deserve a penny of this. Besides, he’s got enough money as it is. This is for us, and only us.”

They came to a stop in an alleyway not far from the scene of the crime, certain that no one had seen them and wouldn’t connect the crime to them. They exited the stolen vehicle, celebrating their victory with simple exchanged smiles and by sorting through the cash to equally distribute it between Franklin and Trevor. Wave was technically just a subsect of Trevor’s take-- she didn’t qualify for any money of her own just yet.

“I think it’s about time we actually plan another  _ real  _ heist soon, Franky,” Trevor urged the other man, to which he groaned in response.

“Bullshit, that shit’s so stressful, I get fuckin’ headaches after that shit. I’m gonna have to call a raincheck on that, homie.”

“Wah wah, you’re so boring!” Trevor complained. “When are you going to find your balls and start acting like a man again!? This, what we just did here? Wave, stop it. What we just did here, that was some sissy bullshit is what it was! Yeah, we got cash, but for how long? This is enough to spend easily in one night, and you’re acting like you just ran a fucking mile.”

Wave was tugging on Trevor’s sleeve and softly calling his name now. He brushed her aside to continue to yell at Franklin.

“You’ve gone fucking soft, like Michael! Old far before your time! How old are you, twenty? Twenty five?”

“Twenty six, you crazy motherfucker!”

“Don’t fucking call me a motherfucker! This is all we have, this is our life, and all you want is to sit around and loaf! Christ, this is it! This is the end of the Golden Age of the underworld, and it’s because of fat, lazy fucks like  _ you _ !” he shouted, fists clenched and ready to fly, but he instead redirected his attention to Wave. He shoved her away from him, until her back collided with the wall behind her. “What the fuck do you want?!”

Franklin surged forward to stop Trevor from attacking her, holding Trevor back by his arms as he seethed and snarled. “Leave her the fuck alone, you crazy asshole!”

Wave pointed down the alleyway, and they followed her gaze. There were five figures at the entrance, walking towards them, guns in hand. On top of that, they were clearly young. Wave’s age.

Trevor and Wave knew instantly who they were. He took a surprised step back, gaze focused solely on the approaching danger. Wave came to stand by his side, equally as surprised. They turned to look the other way, towards the exit. There were more kids walking down that way. Franklin released Trevor, and they looked all around them to see if they could find an exit of any sort.

They were trapped. Cornered. There was nothing they could do as they stood and watched them approach. The kids raised their guns at them, and the tallest stepped forward.

“Drop all of your weapons,” he commanded, gun pointed directly at Waverly’s head.

Unlike Franklin and Trevor, who were hesitant to drop their weapons, Wave dropped hers like it was a flaming hot iron, instantly raising her hands above her head. It was almost like she was a trained dog, and right now, her tail was between her legs, like a disobedient puppy that had just been caught. She worked up a nervous smile.

“Jeff, come on, do you really want to--”

“Get the bags,” he commanded two of the other kids, and they rushed to comply. “I got your position when you left, Wave. I really do want to. I bring you in, I get to keep it.”

“You know these fuckers?” Franklin asked her. Jeff roughly jammed the barrel of his gun into Franklin’s arm.

“Shut up.” He held his finger up to his ear-- he had an earpiece. “Get the van over here. We’ve got them surrounded and neutralized.”

“Well,” Trevor growled, “isn’t that fucking cute, you’re using your big kid words--”

Before he could say any more, four more of the kids surged forward, two to restrain Trevor, and two to restrain Franklin. While Franklin was jammed into the side of the van, Trevor was slammed into the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs. His arms were yanked behind his back as the girl on top of him growled down at him.

“You,” she hissed. “We’ve got a special place for you, fuckwit.”

Wave took a hesitant step forwards, but was blocked off.

“Hey,” she said a little more loudly, “don’t hurt him--”

“You  _ fucker! _ ” Trevor shouted up at her, hate burning and searing in his eyes. She took a surprised step back. He spat and seethed, fire raging in his heart. “You fucking planned this! You fucking traitor!”

“No!” Wave shouted as her arms were bound behind her. “No, I had no idea they were coming!”

“Bullshit!” Trevor cried, thrashing beneath the two holding him down. “You knew! You called them! You had to have! You did this!”

She felt herself choking up as he made these accusations, and they were all dragged to their feet and being pushed down the street. “I  _ didn’t _ !” she insisted through the cracking in her voice. The three of them were shoved into the back of the van, the doors clicking closed behind them, and they noticed that there were no windows just as the vehicle spurred into motion. They sat in silence for a couple minutes, Franklin staring Trevor down to prevent him from attacking Wave. As they were sitting there, with Trevor staring daggers into her, there was a crackling of speakers just above their heads, before an old, rasping voice crackled to life.

“That was far too difficult. You know how it works, Waverly. Why didn’t you make it easy for us? You could have made this simple. Less people would have had to get hurt.”

Wave thrashed in her bindings and spat up at the speakers.

“Fuck off, Beverley!”

Trevor and Franklin’s eyes widened, and they exchanged looks. Beverley?  _ The  _ Beverley? The Beverley that used and abused Wave and so many others like her? This old-sounding woman was Beverley?

“I’d watch that tongue of yours if I were you,” the static voice chided. “Where have your manners gone?”

“I’ve realized what you are,” the teen shouted again. “I know what you’ve done to me. You  _ used  _ me. Manipulated me. Tricked me into thinking that my only place in the world was, and could ever be, with you. That no one would accept me or want me for who I am except for you. And you were  _ wrong _ .”

The old woman laughed, breathing into the mic. “You truly think this meth and weapons addict is any better than I am? Don’t you see the look in his eyes now?”

They looked around the van, until their eyes settled on a camera they had not spotted before, trained directly on Trevor. He spat in the camera’s direction.

“He knows what you did,” Beverley tutted.

“I didn’t do  _ anything _ ,” Wave emphasised again with poorly hidden panic. “You just  _ found  _ us. I had  _ nothing  _ to do with this! Trevor, please, you have to believe me! I didn’t want this! I’d be up front with them if I’d truly betrayed you, right?”

“ _ You  _ said that they’d kill you once they got their hands on you,” Trevor growled out. “This is a bribery-- mine and Franklin’s lives for yours.”

“That’s  _ not  _ what this is!” she shouted again, nearly on the verge of tears.

Beverley spoke up again, laughing.

“The girl’s right,” she confessed, and Trevor and Wave both immediately calmed down. “But you all have to die regardless. One of you knows our little girl’s secret. Someone tattled, and I know who. We can’t find him, but oh yes, we know who. Why he’d let you in on such a secret, Trevor, is really beyond me.”

Wave’s brow furrowed, and she looked over at Trevor, confused.

“What’s she talking about?”

Trevor sat there in silence while Franklin spoke up. “How tha fuck’m I s’posed ta know? Bitch probably high as a fucking kite.”

Trevor nodded his head in agreement with Franklin, to which Beverley tsked in disappointment. “Come now, Trevor, I thought you loved the girl. Why would you lie to dear little ‘Jet Black’ like that?”

“Jet Black?” Franklin turned to look at Trevor, who had paled significantly and was as still as a statue. He shook himself from his stupor, shouting up at the speakers.

“You fucking bitch!” he screamed. “I’m going to ram a Goddamn chainsaw up your fucking ass!” He kicked the walls of the van, screaming and seething his rage. Under normal circumstances, Wave would have joined him, but Beverley’s words had sowed the seeds of doubt in her mind, and she only stared as Trevor exerted his rage on the metal walls of the vehicle. She and Franklin both watched him, dumbfounded and both at a loss for words, right up until the van hit something, coming to an instant hault. The three surged forwards, hitting the front wall of the van with a thud.

Trevor’s head swam and pounded, but through his daze, he could hear the sound of gunfire and yelling from outside the vehicle. There was the tapping of the shots against the outside of the van, and the screaming ceased. The speakers sizzled with a curse.

“That fucking de Santa,” Beverley quietly raged. “He’s going to ruin everything! He’s murdering your siblings in cold blood, Waverly.”

"As far as I'm concerned, I never  _ had  _ any 'siblings'." 

“No,” the old woman clarified, “you did. But not anymore. Hundreds.  _ Thousands.  _ All laid to waste, all in the name of war and peace. These were your  _ foster  _ siblings. We adopted you, gave you your home. But your bloodline was ripped away from you, one by one. You’re all that’s left.”

Wave glanced at the radio. "What are you talking about, you coke fuck?"

"I really don't want to go into the details; it breaks my heart, really! If you really  _ must  _ know, my dear, ask your so called ‘father'. He can lie all he wants, but he can't hide the truth!"

There was sinister snickering, and then the radio clicked off. Just as it did, the back of the van was torn open, and there stood Michael and Lamar, panting and covered in the blood of the fallen they had slaughtered.

“Come on, shit, shit,” Michael panted, ushering his friends out of the ruined vehicle quickly, “they’re sending backup, we gotta get the fuck out of here!”

“I’ll drive,” Wave insisted instantly as their bindings were torn off of them. None of them questioned, and they were directed to two stolen cars; a Tailgater and Patriot. Wave, Trevor, and Michael hurried into the Patriot, while Lamar and Franklin dive into the Tailgater. They speed down the road together for a while, before splitting up. Just as they do so, three cars come up behind the Patriot, trailing close behind and firing rapidly at them. Trevor shoved Wave’s head down, hissing as he nabbed a pistol from Michael.

“Stay the fuck down, you hear me?!” Trevor exclaims before looking behind him and firing off a couple shots blindly. She only floors the gas pedal in response, climbing up to dangerous speeds.

Trevor shouts at Michael as they try to get in clean shots at their pursuers. “How the fuck did you find us?”

“Lester,” the older man replied shortly. “He was keeping an eye on you two.”

“Christ,” the Canadian mutters, “does he have any life at all?”

“Focus, T,” Michael cries.

In the next few moments, they manage to take care of two of the three pursuers, but before they can get in a third shot, the two tires on the right side of their own vehicle go out simultaneously. The Patriot slams down hard on its right side, and no matter how hard she could have yanked on the wheel, there was nothing Wave could have done to have stopped from losing control. All she has time to shout is “Fuck!” before they veer off hard into the woods and hills to their right, directly in the path of a large Redwood tree.

This was going to hurt.

 

* * *

 

 

The two remaining conscious criminals dragged Michael from the burning ruins of the Patriot, panting and whimpering from their sore, achy muscles. She raised a hand and shot the last of their chasers-- a girl that could have only been thirteen, then tossed away the empty weapon. They were all out of ammo. They went deeper into the trees to get away from the road and out of sight. When they were sure they were far enough away, Trevor propped up Michael against a tree before he himself flopped down in the grass of the woods, while the girl remained standing. She bore into Trevor with her sapphire eyes relentlessly, until he finally took note.

He stood slowly, grunting with the effort, only to be promptly punched in the face. Blood gushed from his nose, but he made no sound, only stumbling backwards in surprise.

"What are you hiding from me!?" she accused, gritting her teeth together audibly.

Trevor sighed, and made placating motions with his hands. "Look, baby girl, now-"

"Do  _ not  _ call me that!"

Silence took hold again, and she paced back and forth as she pinched the bridge of her nose, all while Trevor stared helplessly. At last, Wave turned back to face him, eyes wild with hatred and fear.

"Tell me  _ everything _ , Trevor, and it better be  _ fucking true _ !"

The Canadian swallowed thickly. Blood was trickling down the back of his throat from his bruised nose. "Beverley, well... you heard her, she was higher than the fucking stratosphere!"

She pinned him against a tree, holding a knife against his neck. Where she had gotten it he couldn’t begin to assume, but the metal was cool and real.

"There are three times when people can't  _ help _ but tell the truth. The first is when they’re consumed by overwhelming anger. Anger is the ultimate truth teller. Your walls break when under pressure, and one can't help but spill. The second is when you’re drunk. Your secrets slowly seep from the cracks in your walls as your inhibitions fall. You just can’t help it. The third is when you’re high. It all just  _ flies  _ over the wall, floating without a care. It's like smog; you're not thinking about it now, but the consequences will come sooner or later. So, if she was high, then she would be telling the truth. She never called me Jet Black in my whole life. And I saw the look in your eyes when she did; you’re a terrible liar, Trevor. Now tell me the fucking truth! You-- you  _ owe  _ it to me!"

Trevor shoved Wave away from him, eyes wide and wild.

"Fuck you! I’m not telling you a damn thing!"

"I will gut you like the pig you are, you disgusting, perverted piece of shit! Tell me everything you know, or I will go to Beverley and have her tell me herself!" She gestured behind her with a wave of a hand. “I’ll go, right fucking now, and slice the fuck out of you if you try to stop me!  _ Talk! _ ”

"Fine!” Trevor burst. “You wanna know so fucking bad?! Fine! Fuck you! You’re a government experiment, alright?!”

Wave took a single step back, eyes widening as Trevor continued to yell.

“You never had any one parent because you’re a mix of genes from a shit-ton of criminals and fucking murderers! You’re the lone survivor of a fuck-ton of other guinea pigs, and the government thinks you're dead! You wanna know why? They think that they sent you on a cargo ship out in the middle of the fucking ocean,and blew you to smithereens, because even  _ they _ didn’t want you anymore! No one wants you around!  _ No one _ !"

Wave, stumbled back, dropping the knife that she held, and held her left arm, right where her scar was, shaking her head and muttering repeatedly to herself. Trevor panted as he stared, waiting for her reaction.

"It… it’s not true. It can’t be," she muttered.

"It is, Wave. It’s all fucking true. You’re a fucking  _ abomination _ ."

Her face turned twisted-- wounded-- dejected-- abandoned.

"You’re lying It’s not true!"

"You’re  _ nothing _ !" Trevor shouted. “You’re a fucking  _ weapon _ ! Sub-human, a bred-soldier!  _ Nothing _ !”

"You’re a fucking liar!"

Wave charged at Trevor, fists clenched and lungs screaming not to the sky, but to the earth, and the Hell beneath it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Physical abuse, blood, stabbing

It took Trevor too long to realize what Waverly had in store for him, and he only managed to flinch right as she planted her hand into his gut. The wind was knocked from him, and he fell to his knees. He still could scarcely believe it had happened. It had been so long since she’d attacked him, or hurt him in the slightest way. It was unexpected. Maybe if it had happened five months ago, when he first knew her, he would have been able to counter it, but now, he couldn’t believe it had happened. He lay there, wheezing as he looked up at her.

"You’re a fucking liar!" She kneed him in his chin, then went to pick up her knife, which lay just a few feet away.

Trevor knew, in that moment, that he had fucked up-- that he had made a  _ huge _ mistake not telling her the truth straightaway. They were both psychos, which meant that a part of her was perfectly fine with ending his life now that she was as angry as she was. Luckily, Trevor realized this, and he got to his feet quickly. He screamed his own anger and fury, and pounced on top of the girl, holding her firmly. Her hand was inches from the knife as she was pinned down.

"Get off me, you fucking Judas!" she gargled, thrashing under him.

"Wave,” Trevor warned, still possessing some of his common sense, “don't do something you'll regret!"

She head-butted him in response, and blood ran from his nose once again; he tasted it on his own lips. Before she could grab the knife, he dived for it, and threw it far away before shoving her back forcefully.

"Stop!" he yelled, and his throat burned.

"I can't now, Trevor! You forced my fucking hand. I can’t trust you anymore!"

She swiped under his legs, and Trevor came crashing down face first, which she kicked. It was strong enough to hurt like hell, but not enough to break anything.

"Wave, stop! Please--"

She kicked him again. Trevor pushed against her foot, causing her to stumble backwards as he tried to regain his footing.

“I don’t want to fucking hurt you!” he screamed, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“I wouldn’t want to hurt me, neither,” and she kicked him again, in his collarbone.

Trevor remembered, somewhere deep in the recesses of his memory, how she had once saved him from rape by literally beating his attacker to death, and he thought of himself now, and how his life was in danger. He tried to reason with himself, even as she continued to hurt him-- Wave cared about him. He had shown her that he cared. She wouldn’t kill him.

But it wasn’t enough. Eventually, she broke him. Not physically, but mentally. The old Trevor, the one who had no remorse for any other human life, broke free. The old Trevor, who took pride in being cold and heartless, reemerged. He took her foot in his hands, and twisted just enough to cause the pain of a breaking bone, but not enough to actually fracture it. Wave held her ankle in agony, biting her lip until it bled. But Trevor wasn't giving her a break. He began to punch her in her ribs and stomach, using no mercy or thought. The animal inside of him was rabid, and had been caged for too long for her sake.

At last, she took matters into her own hands. She grabbed his foot and, though she wasn't strong enough to break it, she twisted it horribly, and the man howled. In his distraction, the girl took a chance and rushed over to Michael’s unconscious body, praying for a weapon of some sort to use. He had nothing, and a sharp pain surfaced on the back of her head. She turned, and Trevor's fist crushed her left eye socket, immediately making her temporarily blind on that side. He bellowed as he picked her up and threw her down again. She kicked him in the balls, then began to search the ground for her knife. Before she could get to it, he pulled her back by her shirt, then punched her back down. She began to crawl away, but he jumped on her and grabbed her neck. She gasped with fear, and fought his hands which were eager to twist her neck in deadly ways.

"I fucking loved you!” he shouted. “I loved you like I’d given fucking birth to you, you bitch!" Trevor tried twisting her neck the other way, but she fought him there too.

"I loved you like you were the last fucking thing in the whole Goddamn universe! I wanted to protect you! I wanted to raise you! I wanted to  _ save  _ you! And  _ what  _ am I getting for it in return?!  _ Huh?! _ "

Using an old technique that had worked countless times before, Wave chomped on his hand, and the effect was instantaneous. He yanked away as if he had touched a burning stove, and kicked her away.

"Stop fucking biting me, you  _ whore!"  _ His screaming was loud enough that the birds in the trees finally took flight, having been watching the encounter with unease before, but now fully sensing the danger.

“I will  _ never  _ stop fighting you!" Wave shouted, dancing just out of his reach. “I will  _ never  _ let you manipulate me again! You’re a fucking asshole! I trusted you, and you couldn’t even trust me with my own secrets! I will never let you have me again! I will fight to the fucking death to defend my freedom! I don’t belong to you, and I  _ never will! _ ”

He sailed in for a punch, but she side stepped his blow, and uppercutted him. As they continued to hit and bruise and break each other, A car drove over the hills-- a Tailgater. Wave spotted the vehicle,using the distraction to turn and run away from her attacker, and Trevor chased after her.

"Hey, hey!” Franklin shouted, tumbling from the vehicle, bloodied and shot. “What tha fuck are you guys doing!? Cut that shit out! What the fuck’s gotten into you two! Back tha fuck off!"

His statement came too late. Wave leapt from a hill not far away, and Trevor dived after her, and went tumbling and crashing through the brush below. Realizing the danger the two were in, Franklin rushed over to Michael, shaking him awake.

"We gotta get down there!” he said vaguely. “They're gonna fucking kill each other!"

Michael did not need to be told who Franklin was talking about. Despite his spinning head and aching body, he shot to his feet, following Franklin to the edge of the hill. He found himself horrified with the sight before him-- something Amanda had predicted, and something he’d been too blind and hopeful wouldn’t happen. He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe it. Trevor was supposed to protect her, damnit, no matter what! This was wrong. This wasn’t supposed to be happening!

"Trevor, get a hold o' yourself!" Franklin called.

Trevor ignored Franklin’s shouting and pleading. The balding sociopath latched himself to the girl when she tried to run, pulling on her shirt and stretching the fabric to its limit before tearing it, revealing her bra and old scars. She was getting away, and Trevor  _ had  _ to stop her. He was winded, and she was not-- she could keep running. He could not. So, he felt around for the first thing he could find, and threw it.

It happened to be her knife. The sharp object seemed to fly in slow motion, one turn after the other, as everyone stared at the glinting metal fly right for the girl. No one had time to pray that only the hilt would hit her. And even if they had, their prayers would have gone unanswered. The blade pierced Wave's back, and she stopped short, clutching her chest as if it was filled with rodents. Her breathing became ragged and labored, and blood pooled from the wound, trickling down. Everyone stared in horror as her life began to leave her, and the teen stumbled a few steps forward.

Trevor stood slowly, still shaking with rage, but now, a certain disbelief was added to the mix, as if the scene before him was some drug-induced trip. None of this was happening. He truly wanted to believe that, but the pain all over himself was too real for this to have been a drug-induced hallucination.

"You..." she gasped out before she reached around her back, and felt the intrusion. Her fingers fell limp by her side, and she stumbled to her knees. "You... “ She collapsed, her energy spent, and drew one last breath before losing consciousness.

"No!" Michael screamed at the top of his lungs and sprinted to the teen. Franklin remained where he stood, astounded at the turn of events. Trevor stared back, equally shocked at his own actions. He looked down at his hands and stumbled backwards, like her blood was on his hands. Some of it was.

"Wha... What did ya do!? Trevor!" Franklin pointed down the hill at the man angrily as he slid down himself. “What the fuck man?! Look at this! Look at what you fucking did!”

Trevor shook his head dumbly, still staring at his hands. "No... no no no! I- she... she isn't..."

"She’s fucking dead, Trevor!" Franklin continued. “Shit, what the fuck!?”

"Hey!" Michael shouted. "Let's not make any assumptions! Frank, get over here and help me! Trevor, you stay the  _ fuck  _ away from her!"

“N-no,” he stuttered, reaching out, “I can help, I can--”

There was a pistol aimed Trevor’s direction, shaking as tears trickled down Michael’s face. The look in his eyes was that of terror and betrayal.

“I fucking  _ trusted  _ you,” he cried out, “to take care of her! To not hurt her! To protect her! And look what you fucking did with that trust! Are you proud? Huh?  _ Are you fucking proud, Philips!?  _ You did this!”

Trevor held a hand to his mouth to muffle his cry of anguish as he spotted the blood on Michael’s hands. Michael was shaking.

“ _ Is this who you are?! _ ” he screamed. “ _ Is this who you fucking are, Trevor?!  _ Who’s next? Huh? Jimmy? Tracey!? Who’s fucking next!?”

Trevor stumbled back.

“She’s not dead!” Trevor cried. He took a few steps forwards. “Let me help! I can help--”

There was a warning shot just at his feet, and he leapt back in shock.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Michael screamed, “before the next fucking bullet goes right through your fucking skull!”

Trevor stood in place for just a moment longer, but the wild, protective fire in Michael’s normally calm, sea green eyes spurred him in to action. Trevor ran as fast as he could. He ran faster than he had in his entire life. Faster than when death threatened him, faster than when the police and jail was near, faster than when stuck in the snow with bullets whizzing just over his head. Not only that, but tears streamed from his eyes. They went unnoticed as he crashed through the brush, trying to get as far away as he could from what he had done.

He had  _ loved _ her! He had cradled her in her sleep as if she was his own! He had soothed away her fears, supported her dreams, and listened to her troubles and thoughts. And he had killed her. At the end of the day, he was the damn fool that stabbed her in the back. In his fit of anger and rage, in a moment of weakness that she took advantage of, he had reverted to his old violent behaviors, and it had taken just a moment too long for him to get a hold of himself. Now, he was paying the price for it.

His breath was cut short suddenly, and he clutched at the ground and moaned. The same emotion that had swept over him five months ago grabbed him again, and the pain was too much to bear. He pounded the ground in anger and agony, and his tears came faster. Trevor fell and began to sob, and continued to do so until his body couldn't handle the stress anymore. With the last of his common sense, he pulled himself off to one side, out of sight of the majority of the world under a tree, and fell asleep, shuddering and whimpering as his brain tortured him with flashbacks of what had happened only moments ago.

 

* * *

 

 

Greed is a beast, and anger is its feeder. Where there is jealousy and power, there are people who are bound to abuse it. Even if it happens to be a louder voice, or more powerful weapons, it is always used against the weaker party. When this occurs, who is the one to pay the price? It is not he who inflicts, nor the one who receives.

It is the rest of the populace who have no choice, but to watch.

That was the fact that Michael considered as he sat in the waiting room of the Operating portion of the hospital, head in his hands. He was worn down. He was tired. Franklin had fallen asleep long ago, but he was too worried to do so himself, despite the fact that the surgery would take a few more hours, at least.

Wave was going to live. Trevor had managed to scrape bone in her spine when he threw that knife at her, and punctured a lung, but she was otherwise, for the most part, unscathed. As he sat in the waiting room, cell phone in his hands, Michael decided, with finality, that, no matter how difficult it may be, Waverly needed to be taken out of the equation. She couldn’t be here anymore. Not with what had just transpired between her and Trevor. He had to get her out of here.

A nurse walked by, and offered him a cup of water. He gratefully accepted, downing the small amount in just one gulp. It was time. As much as he wanted to keep the kid around, he knew that it was time. She couldn’t be here anymore. She couldn’t be anywhere near Trevor. It was for her own safety. With trembling fingers, he dialed the number in the phone book on the table before him, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"You have dialed Foster Care Services, how may I help you?"

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s done?” Franklin asked.

Michael nodded and just gave a quiet yep. Franklin sighed, and shook his head.

“Can’t fuckin’ believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Michael agreed somberly. “Jesus, fucking Trevor. He-- we can’t let this one slide. We  _ can’t _ . This-- this is for the best. She’s got to go. We’ve  _ got  _ to get her out of here.”

“Shit, I mean…” Franklin threw up his arms in frustration. “She’s… Wave’s, like, a… a  _ part  _ of us now. Wave’s a member of the fuckin’ posse. It ain’t gonna be the same without her, and there’s… there’s no tellin’ what the fuck Trevor’s gonna do when he figures out she’s gone.”

The automatic doors to their side opened up, and an exhausted looking Lester stepped in. Michael and Franklin made room for him to join them.

“He’s not gonna figure out she’s gone,” Lester said in response. “Not for a while, or at least not until she’s out of state. I won’t let him figure it out. I’ll keep as many networks down around him as I have to until we know she is out of the state and far, far away from that-that fucking-- fucking psychotic, maniacal, worthless, insane c--!”

“Calm down, Lester,” Michael urged quietly, and the man seemed to be shaken from some sort of stupor as Michael pulled him out of it. “Just-- try not to think about Trevor right now. Right now, we gotta focus on Wave. The docs said we could go in and see her-- we were just waiting on you.”

Lester shook his head, leaning on his cane heavily as he let loose a weary sigh. “You’re right, you’re right. Trevor is not the issue at the current moment; right now, we’ve got to focus on giving Wave a proper sendoff.”

The three of them walked through the halls of the hospital to the outpatient center. There were beds all lined in a row for those just waking from surgery, and they were lead past those to the separate rooms. There, they found her. The dark circles under her eyes that seemed to be there perpetually were darker, more purple than usual. Her bottom lip was swollen, her right eye bruised, and the blue of her sapphire eyes was dull and lifeless. She looked up at them as they entered the room, sat up straighter, and immediately, hoarsely declared:

“I remember everything.”

Michael and Franklin blinked, completely lost. Lester, on the other hand, stepped forwards, taking a seat next to the bed and crooking his head to one side in curiosity. "Everything?" Lester asked.

Wave merely nodded, still in a slight stupor from the rush of memories that hit her when she woke.

“What is she talking about?” Michael inquired.

Lester and Wave exchanged looks, to which she gave a brief nod. Lester sighed, taking his glasses and wiping them clean on his shirt as he spoke.

“Well, the ‘too long; didn’t read’ version is this, and there’s not time for questions: Waverly is--  _ was _ \-- a government experiment, the last of a thousand like her. The government thinks she’s dead-- well, maybe not so much anymore, but when I got the news you were bringing her here, I did everything in my power to keep her off the FIB radar. Is that right, Wave?”

The girl merely nodded, eyes vacant, as if reliving everything that happened to her under FIB care. Franklin took a step back, and Michael threaded his fingers through his hair in bewilderment.

“Jesus,” Michael breathed, “you’ve got to be shitting me. We’ve been working with a fucking spook?”

“Not a spook,” Lester clarified. “An ex-soldier. She and her kind were never meant to be spies, only weapons of war. But the project was a failure, and they thought they killed her, since they never recovered the body. Well, they were wrong, and now here she is.”

"No..." Michael hissed. "That's fucking bullshit!"

"It's true." The girl's throat burned as she stated the truth. The one thing she had fought Trevor over, and she happened to be in the wrong the whole time. Her anger had torn her apart from the only true parental figure she’d ever had. "Trevor was right. Where is Trevor? Why isn't he here?"

The three men sat back uncomfortably.

"Trevor," Franklin explained, "ran off after you passed the fuck out. We ain't heard or seen from 'im. Probably still passed out drunk in some fuckin’ ditch somewhere. Bitch thinks you’re dead."

“What?” Wave shot up, wincing as her stitches pulled and tugged on her back. “Jesus, we-- we have to go find him, tell him the truth--”

“No way,” Michael exclaimed, “in fucking hell. In case you forgot, that sociopathic motherfucker just tried to kill you.”

“He didn’t mean it,” she assured them.

“Excuse me?!” Franklin cried.

“It was an accident,” Waverly insisted, looking panicked. “It-- he didn’t mean it. I aggravated him. It was my fault, not his. He was just telling me the truth, and I was too angry that he hadn’t told me before to listen. It was my fault that he lashed out at me.”

“Regardless,” Michael replied instantly, “you’re not going back to him. Ever. You’re getting out of here, away from him. Away from assholes like… like us.”

“No!” Wave shouted, screaming. “I’m not going anywhere! I need Trevor!”

All three of the men reared backwards, appalled at the words coming from her lips. Michael seemed less stunned than the others, as there was a flicker of understanding that passed through his eyes. Horrified understanding.

“I need him!” she continued. “He’s  _ all  _ I have! He is  _ all  _ I know! I get it, he’s an asshole, but I can’t be without him! I  _ can’t _ !” Wave yanked the IV from her arm, leaping out of the bed still in just a hospital gown, and darted past Michael and Franklin before either of them could react. A passing doctor attempted to stop her, but Wave smacked the doctor away, running as quickly as she could in her still impaired condition through the front door of the hospital. She ran past the foster care agent, who had just arrived, and onto the busy street. The cars outside were just barely able to stop to allow her to run by.

"Wave!" Michael's voice rose to unrealistic volume as he darted out onto the street after her. His heart pounded in his chest, like he was chasing after one of his own children, or even yet, a mirror of his younger self-- on the run, without faith in a world that didn’t love him. 

" _ Waverly _ !"


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific chapter warnings

"Baby girl!" Trevor shuddered awake, clutching his left arm and heaving one last sob. He gazed all around him slowly, bewildered and bemused. Where was he? And how long had he been there? It came back to him in a flash-- all of it. The capture, the release, the chase, the crash. The fight. Damn. How long had he been asleep? He checked his watch, and choked when he saw how long he'd been out. Michael and Franklin would have definitely have taken Wave away by now. They would have gone to the nearest hospital. Trevor trembled and wrung his hands together nervously as he stumbled to his feet. As he did so, his phone vibrated in his pocket, and when he looked at the caller ID, the number was unfamiliar to him. He answered reluctantly, not sure if his voice would hold steady for him. The voice that spoke was familiar and vile.

"How does it feel, Philips? To lose control and hurt someone you love?"

He growled at Beverley, too upset to come up with an insult. “How do you know what happened?”

“I don’t. I assumed. But, judging by that reaction, I can only assume I was correct.”

Trevor’s growling ceased, and he heaved a massive sigh.

"Do you see how tragic you are? You think you can protect the girl from me, the LSPD, the world? But who does she really need to be protected from? When she's with you, she's in the most danger she could ever be. You think you’re her guardian, her dark knight, but the truth is, at the end of the day, you’re no better than I am."

"That's not true!" Trevor roared.

Beverley cackled. "But you  _ know _ it is! She was happiest and safest when she was with me. Sure, she may not have had the best living arrangements, but you of all people should know it's a small price to pay for safety and certainty. I know more about you than you would like me to know, Trevor Philips. I know where you come from. I’ve heard it from every whisper of every victim you’ve left alive. Waverly is in better hands with me. The abuse she would endure with you-- at least with me, she has her free will."

"No," Trevor seethed. "You're wrong. She  _ wasn't happy. _ You made her your puppet! Free will, my ass! She was trapped with you!  _ I’m  _ the one who set her free!"

"I made her a soldier. I unleashed her true potential long before I knew her past. I’m what’s best for her. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want the best for Waverly?"

"If you think she's better off with you, you need to get your hand out of your cunt and smell the fucking tuna. Wave loves me like a  _ father _ . She loves me. I made a mistake, but I’m going to make it up to her. I’ll get her to trust me again. She'll forgive me, and things will go back to the way they were. Just you fucking watch, and then we’re coming for your deluded ass. We’ll curb stomp you and any of your fucking midget supporters to the ground. Do you hear me? You’re fucking dead, Beverley!"

There was only a snicker of amusement, and a long, drawn out sigh.

"Good luck, Trevor Phillips."

The line went dead. 

Trevor didn't mind. He didn’t have time to mind. He had a kid to go get. He stood, his joints achy, then sauntered down the road, waiting for a car to jack.

Just minutes later, Trevor drove in silence, not in the mood for music. When the radio was on, everything reminded him of Wave. When it was off, it was too quiet. In his frustration, he punched it out, then huffed at his bruised knuckles. For once, he obeyed traffic laws. His stomach just couldn't handle speeding right now. He felt weak, but he knew, deep down, that she was okay, alive and well. She  _ had  _ to be, or he didn’t know what he was going to do.

The setting sun put a similar sick feeling in his already sore gut. It looked just as it had the night of the carnival so many months ago, where the two of them had first truly bonded, but the major difference was that the sky was grey rather than pink, and the wind blew harshly. It was frighteningly beautiful: a feeling Trevor knew well. It personified everything in his life, and he wondered if he really wanted it to be any different. Did he truly want the raging, howling winds of his consciousness to calm down? Was that sort of peace of mind what he really wanted in his life? Before all of this had happened, Trevor had wondered what it would be like to lead a normal life. But if he had done so, what would have happened when Wave took his money? Would he have chased her and begun this whole mess? Would he have grown attached to things he typically found stupid and pointless?

The more he thought about it, the more he realized: Waverly had saved him from himself. Waverly had saved him from the “normal” life he secretly craved. She had pulled him back from that dangerous mindset, and helped him truly realize that this insanity, this mindless killing and violence was simply a part of who he was; to change that would be to completely change the definition of who he was as Trevor Philips.

 

* * *

 

 

Wave limply held her hot chocolate as she sat in the front seat of Michael's car, legs hanging out the side of the open passenger door. The light snow that had begun to fall rested in her bleached blonde hair, but she was numb to it. Because of the injuries she’d sustained in her fight with Trevor, she simply couldn't run fast enough to get away from Michael. In the end, despite his old age, he had managed to catch her, even carrying her back to the hospital himself, despite his wheezing and gasping. She couldn’t escape from the fate she knew awaited her; a life she was not meant to live, with people she was not meant to love.

Michael, Franklin, and Lester all took turns talking to the agents, sharing "all" they knew about the girl. Everyone had a certain degree of sadness plastered to their expressions as they told each side of the “story” they were fabricating. Even while they spoke, Lester was working on fabricating false identification files, faking Waverly’s heritage, past life, schooling, everything he could think of to make this whole process go more smoothly. As they all spoke, the realization slowly, finally dawned on them with its full weight; the true gravity of the situation was finally making itself known. This was the end. Wave was going.

Surprisingly, she felt nothing. She was leaving behind the only life she knew, and something in her didn't register the fact. She felt as though the past five months hadn't happened, and that this was the end of the dream. It was all a bad dream.

The woman from the Foster Care services, whose nametag read, "Julia Barsworth", smiled down at Waverly sweetly. "I'm very glad to hear that you agree it would be better for you to come with me. This eliminates some possible complications. You can sit up front with me, and we'll listen to whatever you like. I want you to have an enjoyable--"

"Can I say goodbye?" Wave interrupted. "To my friends?"

"Of course," Julia replied without hesitation. “I’m surprised you hadn’t asked sooner.” She stepped to one side to allow Wave through, and she surged forward until she was just a foot away from Michael. He looked down as she hugged him tightly, and everyone heard his back pop in multiple places from how tightly she was hugging him.

"Damn, what a grip," he chuckled lightly, slightly out of breath as he gave her an awkward pat on the back. "Don't break your new folk's backs, kid, alright?"

"They won't get hugs like this, M."

Michael stiffened in surprise at the nickname-- he’d never heard it spoken from her lips before, and it took him by surprise. Wave let him go, and moved on to Franklin, who was standing awkward and stiff, as he stared down at his feet.. He couldn't say a word. Rather, he clenched his bruised and cut fist, holding it up. Wave got the message, and gave him a firm fist bump.

"Email me, kid," Lester said. He wouldn't look at her directly, and he paced in place.

She backed up, a wistful look on her pursed lips, like there was something she was forgetting to do. Something she was missing. She paced in place, before quietly saying, “Keep in contact with me. Let me know when…  _ if _ , Trevor… you know… isn’t around anymore… and I’ll come back. In a fuckin’ heartbeat, I’ll come back.” 

Julia gently placed her hand on Wave’s back. "Ready, hon?"

Wave pondered the thought for a second, and everyone tensed. But, after a seemingly eternity of silence, she slowly shook her head no. She turned, then hopped into the SUV. There was just a split second where they could see her lifting her head to give them one last parting look, but before she could lock eyes with any of them, the vehicle door shut. Then, Julia got in the driver’s seat, and shut the door.

"There goes our little girl," Michael breathed hoarsely. Under normal circumstances, Franklin would have gotten on his case about being a sap, but right now, he couldn’t help but agree with that sentiment.

They watched with sorrowful eyes as the large vehicle crept down the hospital driveway, before speeding off into the street and around the corner, probably never to be seen by any of them again. They stood in awkward, sad silence. Lester kicked at a rogue pebble and sniffed.

“Guess that’s it then,” he mused to the other two.

Michael and Franklin nodded in silent agreement. They all turned to walk back into the hospital, but the sound a car horn stopped them cold. Michael whirled around instantly, then when he saw who the driver was, hissed like a cat defending its territory.

"Oh, shit," he exclaimed. "How the fuck did Trevor find us?!"

The others turned, and saw the spectacle for themselves with frightened and awed eyes. The car was dented and wrecked, scratches lining the sides, as if the driver had been in a hurry, or in a road rage. Undoubtedly, by that lip scar and wild, animalistic look, it was undoubtedly Trevor. Truthfully, they shouldn’t have been surprised-- this was the nearest hospital to the location of the wreck that had started this all. The man ran from "his" car, obviously confused himself as he saw the three men standing there.

"Hey, everybody!" he exclaimed with forced glee, mostly pointed at Michael for no true discernable reason. "How are we all, good, yes? You’re alright Mikey? You look a little roughed up there.”

“Good for you,” Michael retorted, gesturing to the dried blood under Trevor’s nose and his bruised and battered body. “Pot callin’ the kettle fuckin’ black.”

“Whatever, shut the fuck up. Hey, where's Wave? I gotta see her and tell her how this was all just a  _ big _ mistake." He chuckled as if he had said something funny. “I did  _ not  _ mean for  _ any  _ of this to happen, I swear. I want to apologize-- I should have said something to her about her past sooner. I want to let her know that I was wrong, that I’m going to do everything in my power to fix this.”

Michael turned to the sociopath. "Listen, T--"

"Did any of you get her something?" Trevor danced in place. "She'll need all the help she can get to recover, and then we'll go back to the way we were, sitting and watching TV, fighting over the remote and the porn, eating whatever the fuck we want and insulting each other. Constantly. It’ll be just like old times. We can pick up right where we left off, like nothing ever happened--"

“It doesn’t  _ work  _ like that,” Michael growled.

“It does with us,” Trevor argued, face falling as he stared Michael down. “We’ve had our fair share of rough spots before, that don’t mean we can’t fix it. You don’t know us, alright? You don’t know our lifestyle--”

“Trevor, stop--”

“You don’t know how we function! You don’t know the relationship we have--”

"Trevor,  _ listen _ !" Michael practically flew off the ground as he screamed, the stress finally bearing down on him and causing his resolve to collapse. "She's gone, ok? Don't make it worse than it already is!  _ Just stop, alright?!  _ She’s gone, and she ain’t comin’ back!  _ Ever _ !"

The parking lot was empty and quiet. Everyone stared at Trevor, bracing for impact. He looked at the men across from him like they were ghosts.

"... what... she's... dead?"

"No, no, thank God no," Lester explained quickly, then he sighed deeply. "Trevor, after your guy's encounter with Miss Smokes-a-lot, and after you  _ almost _ killed Wave, we decided, as a group-- all of us-- we determined that, for the safety of the people we love and care about, that Waverly deserved... better than... well...  _ this. _ "

He gestured everywhere around him, defining "this" as their lifestyle. “That she would be better off… away from, from Los Santos. Away from you.”

Trevor's eye twitched erratically.

"Where is she?"

Lester gulped. "We don't know-"

"Where the  _ fuck  _ is she!?" Trevor ran towards Lester, death written plainly across his face. Before he could enact any of his violent thoughts, Michael stepped between them, arms outspread and ready to stop Trevor, should things get messy. He replied before things could escalate further.

"In foster care!" Michael snapped before Trevor could hurt the crippled man. "We called the fucking child services, because whatever the fuck else were we supposed to do? Lock her in our basements? Trade her off every other weekend like some sick shared custody? We weren't going to make her suffer the life she already had, Trevor! Don’t you have any idea what you’ve done to her? You tried to  _ kill  _ her! We couldn’t let her stick around if that was what was going on between you two!"

“It was a fucking accident and you know it!” Trevor shouted.

Franklin stepped forwards, now involved in this argument. “Mother fucker, that don’t change tha fact that you just tried to bury the girl! You wanted her six feet under and you know it!”

“All of you, shut up!” Lester screamed at the top of his lungs, and it was such a shrill sound, that they couldn’t help but listen. “What’s done is done. There’s nothing we can do to change this. Trevor could threaten me with any sort of sadistic, endless torture, and I would  _ never  _ help him find out where they decided to take Wave-- all we know is that she’s going out of state, far away from us, and far away from  _ you. _ ” He pointed the last word directly at Trevor. “Our life with Waverly is  _ over _ . But can’t we at least take satisfaction out of knowing that  _ Beverley’s  _ life with Waverly is over, too? We did what needed to be done to save her Goddamn life, from two forces that wanted her dead, no matter how temporary or permanent. Your anger bested you, Trevor, and you’re going to pay the fucking price for it now. Nothing is going to change what happened today.  _ Nothing _ . And where we are now? This is the result of those poor choices. This is what we have left.”

They all stared at each other, Trevor looking like he was ready to have a heart attack from rage alone. Then, keeping his enraged composure, seethed, "Who’s idea was this?”

Michael answered without hesitation. “Mine.”

Trevor and Michael stared into each other’s eyes. There was no fear between them from either of them.

“Michael, I want a word with your ass  _ alone. _ "

Michael nodded. "If it means giving everyone else time to escape while you brutally murder me, then why not?"

Trevor threw out his arms and literally dragged the millionaire off to the side of the building, out of sight and hearing of Lester and Franklin. He pinned the older man against the wall, shaking, and only then did he allow his tears to run from his eyes.

"Thank you, Michael. Thank you, for ruining my life, or whatever little I have left of it!” He shuddered and shook with his misery. “Don’t you get it? She was my  _ life! _ She was my sanity! My food and drink, my warmth in the arctic, my beacon in the night! And I hope you're proud you took that from me! I hope you’re  _ fucking proud  _ of yourself for taking that from me!"

"You left me no choice, T!"

"No, you had  _ many _ choices, but that's the fuck up you chose to wipe your ass with, and you know what!?" He stepped back, holding out his arms. "... That's it. That's how you chose to end this chapter of my life. Just like the other one last year, when Frankie could have killed me but didn't, and how you ended my last happy chapter  _ eleven years ago. _ "

Michael cringed at the memory, taking a hesitant step towards the man. "T..."

"No, Michael,” Trevor cried. “You can't call me that anymore. You do not  _ deserve  _ to call me ‘T’ anymore. It is a privilege, and you have lost it.  Misery loves company, right? That's how the saying goes? Well, I'm miserable, and I  _ don’t _ want company. Especially not yours. Not anymore. I don’t want to see you for a good, long while. Now I'm going to be the mature one here. I'm going to walk away, and not hurt anyone here. You know why? Guess."

"Because--"

"Because that's not what Wave would have wanted. My baby girl wouldn't want me to hurt my ‘friends’. More correctly, my traitors. This isn’t just a betrayal of the mind, no. No, no. This is far, far worse. This is a betrayal of the heart, mind,  _ and  _ soul."

Michael sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Do you think this wasn't difficult for me too, T-Trevor?"

"She wasn’t your fucking  _ daughter _ !" he bawled. "How about I take Tracey away for a year, huh? One year. Let's see how much you love her then! Let’s see how much you fucking love her when she comes back to you broken and bruised, or better yet,  _ dead _ ! Wave might as well be fucking dead to me now, because you  _ took  _ her from me! You took all I have left in this world!"

“What the fuck about me!?” Michael exclaimed, grabbing Trevor by his shirt and yanking him close. “What the fuck happened to our relationship, huh?”

Trevor shoved Michael away, taking a sick pleasure in hearing the breath leave his lungs as he impacted with the wall behind him. He stood and watched as Michael slid down the wall, barely breathing as he stared up at Trevor. The Canadian knelt down slowly.

“As far as I’m concerned?” Trevor’s lower lip quivered with more impending tears. “You stopped being a part of my life the moment you got ‘shot’ back in Yankton.”

Michael’s eyes went wide as he stared up at Trevor, the pain in his expression nearly palpable with those words. Trevor stood slowly, then, with one final choke of misery, Trevor turned and ran.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No specific chapter warnings. I think.

Christmas was quiet in the de Santa household. Usually, there was some sort of errant interruption by either internal struggles or Trevor Philips, but neither happened this year. New Years seemed to be only half of a celebration, and Michael left to spend it with Franklin, at the surprising insistence of his family. That, too, was left alone from the man they all seemed to silently agree they feared. When Michael tried to call Trevor to join him and Franklin in their celebrating, he was met only with a voicemail after just two rings. Since that day Trevor had run into the streets away from Michael, Lester and Franklin, no one had heard a single word from him. They knew he was alive-- he would blatantly ignore texts and calls, making it obvious enough that he had seen them. Trevor was simply going out of his way to isolate himself from his friends.

January and February were slow passages of time in Los Santos for everyone. The snow fell in unrealistic amounts for such a warm area-- there was one day the snow plows had to be brought out and the walks shoveled by disgruntled homeowners along the Vinewood hills, but that, too, eventually passed. The months remained cold and dreary even as the year turned over and things were supposed to be warming up. And all the while, there wasn’t a peep from Trevor Philips.

Trevor loathed the cold. Normally, he wouldn’t; it was a stark reminder of his glory days, up in North Yankton, where he was top of the world. Now, without her-- without Wave-- it was a burden. A trial to be faced alone. A cold even he, with his level of tolerance, could barely stand.He shivered alone most days in Giselle’s apartment, huddled up by himself on the couch with phone in arm’s reach. He’d respond to Ron’s messages every now and then about what should be done with Trevor Philips Enterprises in regards to smuggling and defense, but for the most part, remained unresponsive and motionless to everything around him. Not even Giselle’s insistence could budge him from his place. He continued to pay rent, and she continued to leave him alone, after a time.

By Valentine’s Day, the sociopathic Canadian finally seemed to be coming to his senses, and to the realization that Waverly was gone. He finally seemed to grasp the fact that she was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. Little by little, he began to return to his old mannerisms and daily behaviors, and by the beginning of March, Trevor was once again Trevor, more or less. Perhaps a little more subdued, perhaps even a little more wise, but Trevor nonetheless.

One spring day, he finally left the apartment.

Giselle pulled in to the parking lot just in time to see Trevor marching out towards his truck. She grabbed the groceries from her car, balancing them with practiced arms, and walked to meet him halfway.

“About damn time,” she mused to him.

Trevor grunted in response, eyes tired.

Gee ventured further. “Where are you going?”

“Around. Why the fuck do you need to know?”

“I don’t. I was only curious. Relax.” She left him like that, knowing by this point when to cease a conversation with Trevor. His eyes followed her warily, until she was walking up the stairs to her apartment. He shook his head, and took his seat in the Bohdi.

Just as he was sitting down, his cell phone rang. When he procured the device from his pocket, it was an unfamiliar number-- one he had not seen before. With a roll of his eyes, he tapped the “answer” button, and held the device to his ear.

“Who is this and what the fuck do you want?”

From the other end of the line, there was panicked panting, and the crackle of a mouth too close to the receiver. When they spoke, he found his blood running cool through his veins.

"Trevor! Trevor!"

Trevor blinked, shaking his head as he tried to process the voice he was hearing.  _ There was no way. _ He gulped, before he found his voice, and spoke.

"... Wave?”

There was a relieved, hushed laughter-- laughter he had heard only in his dreams the past few months-- before a whimper, as she tried to hush herself from her panic.

"Oh, Christ, fuck, fucking Christ, I can’t believe-- Goddamn it, Trevor, I-- I never made it out of LS. I  _ never  _ made it out of LS. The fucking foster care lady was with them, she was in on it the whole fucking time. Got paid off to bring me back. I’ve been here for three Goddamn months alone. Goddamn it, Trevor--"

“Calm down, calm down,” Trevor tried to urge her through his own shaking. “Just calm the fuck down. Where are you? Do you know where you are?”

Wave confirmed that she did know, and spewed the letters and numbers of the address quickly straight from memory. Trevor listened and copied flawlessly, though messily, into his personal notebook-- some old building along Buccaneer Way. Wave gulped hastily as she regained her composure.

“I don’t think they know where I am. Trevor, I can’t be here anymore. I’m barely hanging in there as it is. Christ, Trevor--”

Trevor shushed her, shaking in a breath through his nostrils before he spoke.

“Just don’t move, okay? I’m going to come get you. I’ll shoot through as many of them as I have to to get you out of there. You just have to hang in there, alright?”

“They want to  _ kill _ me, Trevor,” Wave emphasised to him. “They don’t trust me anymore. Beverley’s been trying to brainwash me back into her ranks, but I’m not letting her, and I think they  _ know _ . I… I’m scared. I can’t do this on my own. I can’t face them all on my own.”

Trevor gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

“You won’t do it on your own.”

There was another intake of breath. Before Waverly could speak or say anything more, there was the sound of a door slamming open, cries of indignation, and her own screaming and kicking and swearing. There was a loud clatter as the phone was dropped, and brief crushing, before the line was cut off.

Trevor froze solid, though he screamed into the phone. "Wave?  _ Wave _ !?" He knew that there would be no reply, but that didn’t stop his panic from seizing him and causing him to think irrationally.

He shoved his phone into his pocket, cursing the whole time and bolted out of the truck. As he was marching up the stairs back to the apartment, Gee met him halfway.

“What the fuck are you yelling about?” she demanded to know.

"She's not in fucking foster care," Trevor growled.

Giselle Townshend understood immediately, and took a step back in her shock, causing her to stumble up the stairs and sit down. She had heard what had happened to Wave, and had spent three days in mourning, as if the kid had died. Hearing now that she was nearby and alive was incredible.

“You’re sure?”

“She called me,” Trevor emphasised. “The Urban Tigers have her again. She’s barely hanging in there. I have an address, we have to go find her, right now, right  _ fucking  _ now!”

Before Gee could respond to the situation, Trevor had her by her arm, and was dragging her down the stairs to his truck. He shoved her to the passenger side, rushing into the driver’s seat himself, and pulled out before her door had even been closed.

“We’re going to need help,” he informed her. “It’s time to get the old gang together.”

“Should I call them?” she asked.

“Forget about it. We’re going to their houses and picking them up.”

Trevor sped around every corner as harshly as he could simply for the sake of being violent, not concerned in the slightest for anyone else on the road. The condition of his truck came second to the life that was at stake. Giselle clutched the sides of her seat until her knuckles went white and numb.

"Please slow down," she whispered.

In response, Trevor sped up,  _ and  _ turned on the most death metal song he could find, his expression unfazed.

"No."

 

* * *

 

 

Michael sat in his empty house sullenly, staring blankly at the TV with a glass of scotch in his hands. His entire body felt numb-- he had barely moved all day. Amanda and the kids had gone out somewhere to spend his money, and he couldn’t be bothered to go bother them or stop them. He just wanted to be left alone. His mood had been plummeting with Trevor’s absence-- the same thing had happened the first few months of freedom after he had faked his death those eleven years ago. He knew that he would eventually bounce back, but at the current moment, he felt lower than shit, and lonely.

Nothing felt the same with the idea that Trevor hated his guts, Wave was most likely sulking in a perfect bedroom, and his whole family was out of the house to "get a break" from the insanity. It felt to him like the entire world was conspiring against him, out to make him as miserable as it possibly could.

Faintly, he could hear the squealing of tires in his driveway, but he was too drunk and crabby to acknowledge it. Maybe he had imagined it. He hoped, at least, that he had imagined it. He just wanted to be left alone. The slamming of his front door and the heavy, squishy footsteps of Trevor Philips told him that he had not imagined it. When he saw the other man, he sat up, looking surprised and not just a little bit relieved.

“Trevor,” he breathed, “Jesus, look man, are you alright? I’m sorry these past few months have been shitty for you, but--

"Get off your ass now, Townley," Trevor growled, not wanting to waste time with apologies. He pointed at Michael and yelled, "You should have checked your fucking sources before you go and give  _ my  _ baby girl back to that whore-cunt-drug master!"

"Come again?" said Michael as he attempted to rub the blur out of his eyes.

This enraged Trevor, who oh-so-gently yanked the man to his feet by the front of his shirt. "You gave her back to fucking  _ Beverley! _ " he spat. "You need a fucking finger painting, cupcake!?"

"What!? No-- no, you're lying!" the other trembled. Michael looked horrified at the thought.

"Do I look like I'm in a  _ mood _ to play this fucking game, M!? Get off your ass, grab some balls and get in your fucking car! She gave me an address just before she got cut off, and by God, if she's dead when we get there,  _ you’ll _ be to blame!"

With that, he dragged the man out of his house and into the open world. Giselle sat in Trevor’s passenger seat, loading weapon clips as she stared. Before Trevor could drag Michael down the front steps, the older man wrenched himself free from his grasp.

“Just-- just hold on a fuckin’ moment, would ya?!” Michael shouted. Trevor was going to yell at him that there wasn’t time, there was  _ no  _ time for this, but Michael screamed again. “Just shut up and let me talk!” He paced for a second as he pieced together what he wanted to say. “Wave’s in trouble. Wave is still here. I get that. You want to go get her. That’s great. I want you to sit this one out. Let me and Franklin handle this, we’ll get a team together--”

“This is my  _ fucking kid, Michael _ !” Trevor cried as loudly as he could. “This is my child!”

“She’s not your fucking child!” Michael countered. “From the moment you laid eyes on her, you wanted her dead! From the moment she came into your life, you wanted to put a bullet through her skull! This weird attachment thing you’ve developed with her is  _ not love _ ! It’s not, Trevor! She’s just a means to an end to you, someone to use for your own Goddamn personal gain! I’ve seen this fucking shit before-- you’ll keep her around so long as it’s useful to you, and when you get too fucking pissed, shit like what happened back in December will happen all over again. It’s a fucking cycle; it  _ never  _ stops. It never stops unless we can get her the fuck away from you. The only reason she called you for help was she knew you were the only person that would come after her, your number was the only one she knew. She’s  _ scared  _ of you, Trevor!”

“She  _ loves  _ me!” Trevor shouted. “I saved her from herself, Michael; she  _ needs  _ me!”

“She needs the protection you give, but fuck, any dedicated dad can do that! Look at me! I’ve had to save my family more times than I care to count from undesirable situations, but the dynamic between you two is toxic. It’s  _ hurting  _ her. You have the advantage here; she’s helpless. She hasn’t had a normal family in her whole fucking life-- she thinks this is the norm with you, and it’s  _ not,  _ T! I am  _ begging  _ you to let me and Franklin handle this-- we’ll get her out of there, and send her where she belongs-- far away from  _ you _ !”

Trevor stepped forward, pinning Michael against the glass doors and baring his teeth like an animal protecting its young. The force of it made the windows rattle, and Michael’s head bounced off of the door.

“She belongs,” Trevor rumbled like a wild beast, “with  _ me _ . She is a  _ part  _ of me. I  _ cannot  _ be whole anymore without her.  _ You can’t stop me from saving her _ . She  _ needs  _ me. And I need her. I’m going with-- no,  _ you  _ are going with  _ me--  _ whether you like it or not,  _ Townley _ .”

Trevor released Michael, and marched towards his vehicle.

“You can’t do this!” Michael called, chasing after Trevor.

“Fucking watch me!” Trevor screamed. “And I swear on my fucking life, if she gets taken from me again-- by you, by Beverley, by  _ anyone _ \-- I will fight to the fucking death to keep her by my side. She is going  _ nowhere  _ else. Waverly is  _ mine _ .”

He clambered into the driver’s seat of the Bodhi, tapping the horn irritably down at Michael, who was still standing in front of the truck, horrified and hopeless expression accented by the blaring headlights.

“I can’t let you do this, Trevor.”

“Fucking fight me once she’s in safe hands--  _ my  _ hands. Get in your car, we are wasting time!”

“Oh,” Michael assured him, “I will. I will fucking fight you. I’ll fight you to the fucking death to keep her away from you.” He marched to his own vehicle, shaking his head as he thought of all the possible outcomes of the oncoming fight with Trevor Philips he knew was to come.

 

* * *

 

 

The three cars: the red Bodhi, the white Buffalo-S, and the black Tailgater, in respective order, ran the roads together at frightening speeds, without the slightest concern for public safety or their own. It was difficult for the Buffalo-S and Tailgater to keep up with the truck, especially as it made random turns and stops as he attempted to find the address given to him.

"Where is she?" Michael asked over the phone, where all three of them were on speaker.

"Not sure, M. Just gotta follow the address until we end up  _ somewhere. _ "

Michael sighed into the speaker. Before he could say anything more, Gee interrupted hastily. "Chances are we're going to run into a clusterfuck of opposition. Are we adequately prepared?"

“Of course we’re fuckin’ prepared,” Trevor barked defensively. “Did you not see how many clips I had you load up? We’re going in well prepared. We’re going to get in there, get my baby girl out of there, and then we’re all gonna live happily ever fuckin’ after-- right after we kick Beverley’s ass into hell.”

“We really finally gonna end this shit?” Franklin asked. “We really finally gonna stop all this bullshit from bitin’ our asses?”

“Here’s hoping,” Michael replied. “We have to get Wave out of here.”

“We have to  _ reunite  _ Wave with her  _ father _ ,” Trevor argued. “Where she fucking belongs.”

“Listen, you guys, if you find Wave, keep her the fuck away from Trevor. There’s no telling what he’ll do once he gets his hands on her. Probably flee the country and live in the Canadian wilderness now that he knows everyone’s out to get him.”

“Shit,” Franklin muttered. “Yeah, after that stunt you pulled Thanksgiving? I don’t think it’ll be a good call for you to take her back under your wing, T.”

Before Trevor could shout at the both of them for betraying him, a small voice piped in that surprised them all. Gee opened her mouth and stated, “Wave belongs with Trevor. Their dynamic is fucked. I get that. But you know what? Think about how she is. Think about the type of life she wants to live. Think about how she would be with literally anyone else in the world that would take her in. Look, Trevor may not be the best person, but he’s the best choice for her, at the end of the day. There’s no one that brings out both the best and the worst in her. She’s proven that if her life is being threatened, she’ll fight him to the death. She is willing to defend herself from him. She’ll do what it takes. You two do what you want when you find her, but just know that if I end up being the one to find her, I’m taking her to Trevor.”

“Jesus, Gee, don’t you get it?” Michael exclaimed. “He’ll kill her someday. He’ll kill her, whether he means to or not, and then what?”

“Don’t talk about me like that like I’m not here, asshole.”

“You Goddamn know I’m right, Trevor!”

Gee shushed the two of them quickly. “Need I remind you we can continue this argument after Wave’s in  _ someone’s  _ safe hands? She can decide for herself then what the hell she wants to do, with our input, of course. Let’s just focus on getting there.”

A long, uncomfortable silence followed. No more conversation was passed between the four of them as they drove in the cool night air. Fifteen minutes passed.

" _ Turn right, and your destination will be on the left, _ " the GPS rang.

In front of them was a tall building, not quite a skyscraper, that had obviously not been in use recently. Many of the windows were shattered, and the concrete was old and cracked. As far as they knew, the old place was a small business office of some sort, but there was no certainty.

"We're here, guys. Lock and load!" Trevor switched off the truck and jumped from his seat, gun at the ready. Giselle followed quietly, snatching the guns from the trunk of Trevor’s truck and distributing them evenly among the four of them-- three guns to each man. They stood side by side, staring up at the old remains of the business building.

“She’s in there somewhere?” Franklin asked.

“Yep.” Trevor replied.

“Surrounded by legions of brainwashed kids whose only goal is to defend and protect Beverley?” Michael chimed in.

“Most likely.”

They all exchanged one last withering look to one another, dreading the fight they knew was to come; not just with Beverley’s thugs, but amongst themselves once they found Wave and got her to safety. With nothing left to say, Trevor took the lead, but Michael quickly walked in front of him, the both of them switching positions throughout the entire walk there, and inside.

The first thing they knew once they entered the building was that the power was cut off. They checked the fuse box, noting that several fuses were missing. There was nothing to be done about that, so they continued to walk, cautious and on alert.

At length, Trevor gave a pitiful little whimper. “God… I want to call for her _so_ fucking badly… none of you know… I just need to know, is she alive? Is she okay? Fuck me..."

"We know, T," Franklin whispered. "Just hang on. We'll find her. But we can’t draw any fuckin’ attention to ourselves."

Michael made no comment. He had stopped walking and was looking all around him. He could faintly hear something. "Shhh!" he commanded. Everyone else listened, too. There was a long moment where they didn’t hear anything. Then, from a distance, a thud. Without sound, Michael signaled towards where he had heard the noise emanate from, and the four of them proceeded quietly.

They walked for a little bit, before stopping again, waiting to hear the next sound. Gee listened to her right. "Upstairs. It’s coming from upstairs." 

They looked at the decrepit old steps with trepidation-- they looked unsturdy, ready to rot and fall through at any moment. Trevor didn’t seem to even see the damage, insisting on continuing forwards. Once he saw Trevor’s bold act, Michael was close behind, and Gee and Franklin followed side by side.

“Think we’re getting close?” Michael questioned.

“I don’t know,” Trevor replied. “But it’s too fuckin’ quiet. Somethin’ ain’t right.”

“For once, I think I can fuckin’ relate to Trevor.” Franklin shuddered, and looked around him with nervous eyes. “This ain’t fuckin’ right.”

The thudding grew louder and more insistent all of a sudden, and the four of them jumped. It was coming from just down the hall.

“Let me the  _ fuck  _ out!” a familiar, muffled voice exclaimed.

“Wave!” All four of them exclaimed it at nearly the same time, rushing towards the sound.

"Baby, I'm coming!" Trevor called. He glanced at all the doors in the hall wildly, trying to discern which one she had been locked behind, rushing manically forwards.

"She's in here!" Gee pointed to a door blocked by a desk, where the thudding was most powerful. The four of them combined their strengths to move the desk out of the way. Trevor spoke to her through his grunting and pushing.

"Wavey baby, it's okay, we're going to get you out of this!"

The thudding stopped, only to be replaced by surprise. “Trevor?  _ Trevor?! _ ”

“I’m here too,” Michael gasped as he pushed with all his might. “Jesus, what’s this thing made of?!”

“We’re all here,” Franklin added. “We gon’ get you the fuck outta here. Just hang on, a’right? Jesus, this desk is heavier than a mother fucker.”

As they continued to move the massive thing out of the way, Trevor continued to speak to Wave through the door. “God, you-- you have no idea how much I missed you, Wavey baby. We’re gonna get you out of here, and then everything will go back to the way it was-- you, me, a couple bottles of booze, and some shitty TV. Everything’s going to be fine, and, Jesus, Wave, I want-- I want you to know that I’m  _ sorry." _

She sounded surprised. "You’re... sorry?"

"I'm sorry,” he elaborated, “that I kept all that shit from you. I should have told you what I knew the moment I knew. We could have prevented  _ all  _ of this, if I hadn’t been so selfish, and blind, and if you weren’t such a volatile little shit. But, fuck, I guess you get that from me, huh?" He laughed as if it was true and hilarious, and with one final insistent shove, pushed the desk past the door, or at least far enough that they all could get to it. Franklin rushed to try the handle, only to find that it was locked. He gestured everyone away from it.

“Hey, Waverly!” he shouted. “I’m gonna have ta shoot the lock on this bitch. Stand the fuck outta the way!”

He gave her a few seconds to comply, holding out his combat pistol towards the lock, and fired a couple times into it, until they could audibly hear the mechanism drop to the floor with a broken clatter. Trevor rushed towards the door the moment Franklin pulled his gun away, and at the same time, Wave burst through, stumbling directly into his outstretched and waiting arms. He lifted her in his arms, a relieved rush of air leaving him as he held her close to his heart. She was safe. Wave was safe, and in one piece. He pet her hair and shushed her shaking like she was a small, frail child, and she clung to him desperately.

“Trevor,” Waverly insisted after a few seconds, pushing him away, “we have to get out of here. They’re still here somewhere-- I know they are.”

“Kid’s right,” Michael agreed, looking around nervously. “They wouldn’t have just left her here. We got lucky--”

There was the sound of gunfire that shot through the room, and they heard it piercing skin before they heard Michael’s shouted gasp of pain, entire back arching as the feeling raced through him like a wildfire. Franklin rushed to catch him as he collapsed to the broken, dirty floor.

“ _ Michael _ !” Franklin had never sounded so panicked in his life. Trevor, Wave, and Gee were too dumbstruck to move from their places, staring at the blood seeping from the wound in his side as Franklin eased the wounded man to the ground. Wave was the first to come to grips with the situation, and she grasped Trevor’s shoulders hard enough to bruise to veer his attention back his way.

“You have to go,” she urged him desperately. “They’ll get you too. I can’t let them take you from me.” They were coming up the stairs, guns armed and aimed their way.

“Michael, come on, come on!” Franklin begged the man, trying to get him to his feet, but the pain was too great for him, pulsing through his entire body. Gee stood there looking bewildered and helpless.

Trevor growled, forcing Wave to look at him. They couldn’t go anywhere-- not if they couldn’t get Michael to move, and he wasn’t going to go anywhere anyways if she wasn’t going with them. “I’m not budging a fucking inch if you’re not by my side. Do you hear me? Not a Goddamn inch.”

She pounded on his chest, pushing in vain. “Go, asshole!”

He snatched up both of her hands in just his right, drawing the teen in close. At this point, Waverly could only look up at him, utterly petrified by the entire situation.

From behind his head, he heard the clicking of a gun's safety being switched off. He turned slowly, faced with ten guns pointed towards him, being used by ten of Beverley’s kids. Two others had Gee and Franklin on their knees, guns pointed in the same place. Michael was left unguarded, his gasping and whimpering from pain and losing blood deeming him unthreatening to them.

"Hand over your weapon and put both of your hands over your head," one kid commanded. They could hardly be older than fourteen, and were staring directly at Trevor.

This was how it was seriously going to end? At the hands of brainwashed midgets? Trevor could scarcely believe it. He never imagined it would be this way. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. He was supposed to go out guns blazing, the entire world at his fingertips, before being shot down, laid to rest in the street he’d shed sweat, blood and tears on. This wasn’t supposed to be the end. He could make a valiant final stand, but at what cost? Any wayward twitch would send bullets through Franklin and Giselle’s heads, possibly Michael’s. Only now that he was faced with death did he realize the gravity of their morality, how fragile and vulnerable they all truly were, despite their best efforts to believe otherwise.

So, Trevor complied slowly, yet willingly, too dumbfounded by the turn of events to protest. All of his weapons dropped to the ground with a clatter as he and Wave stood side by side, surrounded and helpless.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Physical abuse, interrogation, emotional manipulation, death threats, execution-like situation.

The jock-sized kid in front of him, maybe eighteen or nineteen and most definitely on steroids, kneed Trevor in the chest again, fracturing already bruised ribs, and at this point, he could only whimper due to the gag in his mouth. Before now, he didn’t think he had understood the meaning and context behind “cruel and unusual punishment,” but this had to have been it. Blood oozed from open wounds, gashes that ran down his back stinging and burning. The left side of his face was caked with blood from the wound on the side of his head, crusted and on its way to infection. 

When he first saw Beverley step into the room, he couldn't believe his eyes. She was  _ disgusting _ . She was obviously younger than Trevor, but she looked like she could have been twice so. She had deep, sickly purple bags under her eyes, which were a dull green, and they were so bloodshot from all the substance abuse, that they might as well have been where all her blood was kept. Her cheeks sagged from obvious lack of botox in recent years, and her pale, almost purple lips, were set in a constant frown. Her hair was a compliment in comparison to the rest of her, despite the lack of. She carried what she had well, however, as if there wasn't a damn thing wrong with her. Because, in her eyes, she hadn't changed a bit since her days in Vinewood. She was still gorgeous, luxurious, and dazzling.

Beverley removed his gag and knelt down, smiling. Then the crazed woman stroked the hilt of the knife one of her crew had been using on Trevor, humming nonsense to herself, before she piped up. "Trevor, Trevor, Trevor... when are you going to spill the beans? When are you going to tell us where you hid your take of the Union Depository heist? That’s all I want. I’ll let you go once you tell me. That’s all I want. It’s not that hard. The other two, they have their funds in the bank-- easy to access. You don’t. Where is it?"

"Fuck you," he spat, shaking as he strained to free himself from his seat.

Beverley knelt down further, closer to Trevor, and cut a line parallel to his jaw, sharp and quick, but deep. He jolted and hissed at the pain, blood pooling and overflowing down his neck and staining his shirt.

"If you don’t tell me,” Beverley warned him, “I’ll have to do something you really won’t like. It’s just a few million dollars-- you won’t miss them. What would you spend them on, anyways? Booze? More speed? You would do that anyways. You don’t need the money, Trevor. You wouldn’t miss it.” Then, on a second thought, her grin twisted into something mangled and horrid, and she purred, “You would miss Waverly though, wouldn’t you?"

“You stay away from her!” he exclaimed, snapping up and baring his teeth, animalistic and primal. “She belongs to me!”

“She was mine first,” the old woman pointed out. “She was mine before you swept in to the picture, like some sort of anti-knight. And now, you’ve tainted her. You’ve given her a taste of the real world-- a horrible, toxic, dangerous place not meant for children, yet it beckons to them like an addiction, an opiate. You’ve tainted her. She’s not herself anymore.”

“She’s  _ mine _ .” Trevor hissed and spat. “She’s  _ mine _ , and she  _ belongs  _ to  _ me! _ ”

“No, Trevor. You know who she  _ truly  _ belongs to.”

He had to think about what she was referencing for a moment before it clicked.

“They killed her,” he reminded her. “They gave her up. They didn’t want her anymore.”

“The government created Waverly for their own personal gain-- to discover how to perfect the army and save lives. No matter where she goes or what she does, she will  _ always  _ belong to the military. She will always be just a failed test subject. One that I adopted, and I brought out her skills. Honed them. I perfected her when they could not, and you ripped that away.”

“I  _ freed  _ her from you!” Trevor shouted. “And she does  _ not  _ belong to them! She is not their guinea pig! She is  _ my child _ now. They didn’t want her, and  _ you  _ didn’t want her until you got jealous of me, so she is  _ mine  _ now! I gave up  _ everything  _ to be there for her!”

Beverley stood, and glared down at Trevor coldly.

“You also gave  _ her  _ up when you tried to kill her. Her faith in you is gone, Philips. We all had our fair share in teaching her the ways of the underworld, but it was you that taught her the toughest lesson of all--  _ never trust anyone. _ ”

That caused him to be still, and quiet, teeth chattering together in quiet revolt. Beverley turned around, nodding at the door. One of the two standing guard pulled it open, and Wave stood in the doorway, head drooping, yet chin still held up in defiance, despite her own inflicted injuries. Her hands were secured behind her back, her left hip bleeding through her white, loose shirt.

“W-Wavey baby…” Trevor muttered when he saw her, straining forwards.

She was shoved into the room, and she tripped and fell, coming to kneel before Beverley. The woman took the knife in her hands, using the tip of the blade to force the young girl to look up at her. Sharp blue stared daggers into dull green, before the older woman placed the teeth of the knife on the right side of her temple, slicing down from hairline to the corner of her eye. Waverly recoiled in pain, shouting as warm blood ran down her face. This sent Trevor into a rage, thrashing as best as he could in his own restraints and using every profanity he could think of towards Beverley.

Once he was quiet enough, Beverley turned back to him, wicking Wave’s blood from the blade. “For every minute you do not tell me where your Union Depository cut is, she gets another shiny scar on that pale, flawless face of hers. For every five minutes, she gets a new stab wound in that thin stomach, or on her broad hips. If you don’t tell me anything in thirty minutes, I’ll slit her throat and make certain that she bleeds out right over your heart.”

“You-- you can’t fucking do that!” Trevor trembled in his seat, lightheaded. Whether that was from his own blood loss or the idea of being forced to hold Wave’s dying body while she choked on her own blood, he could not tell. Perhaps it was both.

“I can. And I will. Tick tock, Philips, tick tock.” Beverley tapped the uninjured side of his skull with wrinkled, yellowed fingers. “It’s in there, I know it is. Tell me.”

“Don’t tell her  _ shit _ ,” Wave barked at him from behind the woman. “You earned that, fair and square! That’s  _ your  _ money, Trevor! I’m not worth twenty-million dollars!”

“You worth  _ everything  _ to me, kid.”

“I am  _ nothing _ ! You said it yourself, Trevor! I’m nothing! An abomination, sub-human! I’m--”

“You are  _ worth  _ this.” He was unnervingly quiet. “It was never about the money, Wave. Never will be. It’s never been about the money. It’s been about the experience. And boy, has it been a fucking experience with you. This isn’t the end.”

“Don’t you  _ dare-- _ ”

“There’s a trapdoor--”

“Trevor, shut  _ up-- _ !”

“-- under the wreckage of my trailer back in Sandy Shores. It’s all there. Every last cent that I haven’t spent yet. Just fucking take it, but leave her alone, alright?” His eyes were glued to his knees; he couldn’t bring himself to look up from them as he informed Beverley of the location of his share of the Union Depository heist. There was a cold hand on his head, and the sound of a smile in her voice.

“Congratulations,” she informed him. “You’ve only temporarily delayed the inevitable deaths the two of you will soon face. You’ve put me in a good enough mood to let you two spend your last hours together, instead of in two separate rooms at opposite ends of the building.”

“Let her fucking live!” Trevor shouted, head snapping up as he begged. “She hasn’t done anything to you! It’s all been me! She doesn’t deserve this!”

Beverley snapped her fingers, and while the two standing guard at the door raised their weapons, the ones that had been abusing Trevor before untied his wrists. He knew better than to lash out with assault rifles trained on him. The two unarmed children left the room, posture straight and rigid, seemingly almost afraid. Beverley stood in the door for a moment as she addressed the two of them.

“You don’t get it, Trevor. This was all bound to happen. Wave had sealed her fate the moment she failed to take your heist pay back in July. There’s no room for error here. She met her match in you, and in turn, met her end. Now, she and you will finally receive the fate the both of you deserve-- not the noble death of a martyr, but the death of the scum you are.” With that said, she turned around, disappearing behind the doorframe. The two guards followed, locking the door behind them. 

Wave remained knelt on the floor before Trevor, head hanging between her shoulders. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare reach out to her, only sat there and watched the blood trickle down the side of her head, dripping and pooling on the floor beneath her. It was surreal, seeing her again-- she had grown taller and slimmer in just a few months. The black of her hair was growing in again, a line of it clearly visible where she parted it. Her lips, which were once pink, full, and soft, were now almost white, chapped and cracked.

After a long, painful silence between them, where neither of them moved, Trevor leaned forwards from his seat, rubbing at his wrists absentmindedly.

“Kid, look, I--”

“I can’t believe you did that.”

Trevor inhaled sharply. “I had to do  _ something _ . I had to stop her from hurting you anymore.”

“What,” Wave barked, looking up at him, “and you’re such an angel? I can’t remember how many unmarked graves I helped you dig, and I could have been in any one of them. You kick my ass all the time. Why is it so bad when it’s someone else? What’s the fucking difference?”

“I do it because I fucking love you, you asshole. She doesn’t care about you the way I do. No one does. I gave up  _ everything  _ for you.  _ Everything _ ! And I don’t do anything you don’t deserve-- you know that!”

“What’s the  _ difference,  _ Trevor?”

“You  _ belong  _ to  _ me-- _ ”

“Stop  _ fucking  _ saying that!” Wave shouted at him, suddenly jumping to her feet. Trevor remained sitting, staring up at her with bleary eyes. “I don’t  _ belong  _ to you! I don’t belong to anyone-- no. No, Trevor. We both know-- we both  _ know  _ who I belong to.”

“Don’t fucking say it,” he snarled, knowing what she was going to say.

“We both know it-- I’m the government’s dog.”

“They abandoned you,” Trevor shrieked.

“I’m the government’s dog!” she shouted again. “And I can’t ever escape that! My entire body is evidence of what they did. My scars, my mannerisms, my M.O-- it  _ all  _ links back, Trevor. It always will. I have their blood on my hands, and I’m never washing it off. You get that blood on your hands too when you deal with me. They’ll know eventually. They’ll sniff me out eventually, and then what? Where the hell are we supposed to go?”

“Canada,” he said without pause. “We’ll cross the border. We’ll get Lester’s help-- we’ll get out of here. I’ll get you out of here if they come for you--”

“You can’t think that far ahead if we aren’t even going to get out of  _ this  _ place alive.”

“We’ll get out of this.” he promised her.

Wave banged her head against the far wall, hands still secured behind her. “You can’t get away from Beverley Danes. You can’t get away from the Urban Tigers. Not now. Not ever.”

“We’ll get out of this.”

“We’re going to  _ die  _ here, Trevor!”

“We’ll get out of this. We’re going to get out of this, and then we’ll live our lives like we always have. Before all this shit happened. I’ll get us another place. We’ll do it like we did before. You’ve got to have a little faith, Wave.”

She turned to face him, hissing and spitting. “We have  _ nothing  _ left, Trevor!”

He sat still, and quiet.

“I have you,” he whispered. “And if I have you, I have faith.”

Wave stared at him with incredulous eyes, shaking her head in disbelief.

“God, fuck,” she exclaimed softly, “you sound like fucking Michael.”

“He has the right idea sometimes. Are you gonna bust my balls over that, too?”

“Fuck off.” She turned away from him, staring into the wall. Trevor’s soft laughter didn’t even make her turn around again.

“There’s my girl,” he whispered.

“They’re going to kill him, too. They’re going to kill all of us. I hope you know that.”

Trevor’s smile fell at that point, but he said nothing. There wasn’t anything in relation to that that he felt he could say, or wanted to say. He had to try, for all their sakes, to get them out of there. He couldn’t go down without a fight. He couldn’t go down without trying to save his friends. After another long period of silence, he patted his lap.

“Come here,” he asked of her. “I’ll get those ropes off you.”

“I’m trapped either way.”

“Better to be trapped in comfort than to lose circulation in your hands. Come on, Wavey baby. Let me help you.”

She scoffed from the corner, peering over her shoulder.

“‘Wavey baby.’ What a fucking stupid nickname.”

“A fucking stupid nickname,” he replied coolly, “for a fucking stupid kid.”

He couldn’t see her mouth from this angle, but he could see the corners of her eyes crinkle into a tired smile. At length, the smile vanished. She shook with a heavy breath, and slowly made her way over to Trevor, tentatively, like an animal learning to trust humans again after a period of neglect and abuse. She stood in front of him while he worked at the knots on her hands, until the thick rope fell loose, and she was free. When she pulled her hands in front of her to rub her raw wrists, he took advantage, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back into his lap, swinging her legs over one side of the chair so that he was cradling her. She struggled briefly.

“Fuck,” Wave cursed, “I should have fucking known you were going to do that. Fuck you.”

Trevor only grunted.

“This may be the last time I ever get to hold you like this. Make it enjoyable for me, why don’t you? I’m not asking for much here, kid. I’m just asking for a little affection. Don’t make this hard.”

Wave furrowed her brow, looking anywhere in the room but at Trevor. After a while, whatever force was repelling her eyes from him seemed to vanish, and she locked eyes with him. He stared down at her with narrowed eyes, but not of the untrusting sort. He was trying to memorize the way she looked. He brushed a thumb over the right side of her head, smearing drying blood. After a moment’s hesitation, Wave wrapped her arms around Trevor’s neck. Without another word, she brought his forehead down and kissed both his eyes, drying his tears. They closed their eyes, and held their foreheads together, breathing deeply.

He was jostled from his sleep at the feeling of the body in his arms being yanked away, the sound of her crumpling to the floor enough to make his eyes snap open. He glared around, eyes blurry and the light harsh, before he remembered where he was. Trevor stared as Wave’s hands were tied behind her back yet again, and he himself was once again bound, forced to his feet.

Beverley greeted them outside the door with a smug smirk, hands clasped behind her.

“Good morning,” she intoned cheerfully. “Did you two sleep well, hmm? Don’t worry if you didn’t-- you’ll be getting another chance in just a few minutes.”

As she addressed them, Michael, Franklin, and Gee were finally released, joining them. Michael’s bullet wound had been patched, though his posture remained stiff and crooked, like he’d slept on his side wrong. His eyes, exhausted from a lack of sleep, darted around, as if plagued by the thought that he was going to get shot down at any moment. Franklin’s legs and arms were dotted with deep bruises and gashes, and he limped on his left foot. His left eye was so swollen, he couldn’t see out of it. Giselle’s glasses were cracked, and the left lense was missing, her nose crooked, and a broken hand cradled close to her chest. She looked the worst of them all, dejected and beaten like a small puppy. Her eyes would not leave the ground before her, glued to her feet, or the feet of those in front of her.

“Everyone here?” Beverley smiled again. “Good. Come on, we’re all going downstairs. Quickly, come on. It’s easier to clean blood stains off of concrete than it is carpet or wood. We don’t have time to waste.”

All of them were roughly escorted to the basement of the building, Waverly leading the progression. Despite the circumstances, she kept her head held high, eyes focused only on that which lay before her. Michael and Trevor looked all around, both seeming to have the same goal-- find a weakness. Find an escape. Find something to resist with.  _ Anything _ . They locked eyes, and Trevor could sense what Michael was trying so hard to hide. His fear. His regret. His defeat.

They reached the end of the hall, shivering in the cool basement air, and the doors before them were opened. It appeared to be what must have been a storage room at one point, but now lay empty and barren. At the far end of the room, there was a white tarp, and garbage bags, and five machetes.

Trevor, Michael, Franklin, and Giselle were all pushed forwards onto the tarp by four of them, forced to their knees, hands behind their backs. Wave, however, was held back, arms on either of her shoulders to prevent her from moving forwards. There were four crew members in the room altogether once those two holding Wave back were dismissed. Beverley came to stand behind her, and replaced the hands holding Wave back with her own. Waverly tensed under her grasp.

"As you all may know,” Beverley announced to those present in the room, “Waverly was once one of us. A comrade we looked up to, turned to for guidance. She was a leader, and a chief supporter of our cause. But she was corrupted; she learned of the ways of greed and knowledge, and she was poisoned. She threatens to bring back with her the scourge of intelligence and want. Now, of course, typically, we kill one with too much knowledge, but she has done so much for us all, has she not? She was a primary leader in our gang. She was the butter to our bread. I think that perhaps, just this once, we could make an exception to our no tolerance policy. If, that is…”

Beverley took a pistol from one of the children near her, undoing Wave’s bindings, and pressing the weapon into her hand.

“If she can prove she is ready to come back to us.”

The responding cheers were horrendous. They called like animals, cheering their leader on, and begging for the execution to proceed. They moved forwards to surround the two of them, encouraging Wave on, begging her to come back to them, to prove that she wasn’t as corrupted as she had made herself out to be. The sound was lost to Trevor and Wave, who could only stare at each other as the blood rushed to their ears. Wave stared down at her weapon, turning it over one hand into the other. Trevor was suddenly hit with a pang of terror as he remembered something Michael had said to him a long time ago, and prayed Wave would not have the same thought:

“ _ We do what we have to to survive. _ ”

Wave stared at the weapon in her hands with uncertainty.

“You just have to pull the trigger once,” Beverley assured her sweetly. She walked behind the prisoners, tapping their heads in turn as she spoke of them. “But it has to be either Trevor, Michael, or Franklin. Giselle Townshend does not count. Any one of these three. Any one, and you will be redeemed. We will re-welcome you with open arms, Waverly. Whoever you do not shoot, we will take care of. I understand that it is difficult, to turn your back on someone you were so close to, but I promise on my life, that if you do the right thing, I will make it worth your while. Go on.  _ Pull the trigger. _ ”

Wave’s hand shook. Gradually, she raised her weapon, pointed at the bridge of Trevor’s nose. He bared his teeth and snarled.

“ _ Fucking Judas _ ,” he seethed, quietly fuming as tears trickled down the sides of his eyes. 

Wave bit her lip as Beverley came to stand behind her again, peering over her shoulder expectantly.

“Pull the trigger.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood and Injury, gunfights, death

All was dull and dark. The only thing that stood between Wave and Trevor was the loaded gun she held in her hand, pointed between his eyes, cool metal knocking against his skin every once in a while. He could only stare up at her with disbelief and hatred, those blue sapphire eyes with those white borders along the edges of her pupil and iris doing little to quell him.

There was such clear conflict in the way she looked down at him. It was so easy, in this exact moment, to read what she was thinking.

He could see her hatred.

He could see how she despised him for being the reason she was here, in this predicament. He could see how she hated him for being the one score she failed. He could see how she loathed him for forcing her to conform to his image of perfection, commanding her to obey his every whim and desire, for abusing her when she would not comply, and his lack of gratitude when she did something right, or saved him from being hurt or killed. He could see how she abhorred him for shooting at her, breaking her leg, making her cut her hair when it was all she had, for forcing her to accept him as her one and only guardian, and then turning on a dime and hurting her, nearly killing her, then abandoning her when she needed him most.

But he could also feel her love.

He could feel her admiration, when he put aside his hatred of her to save her life when he had been the one to nearly end it. He could feel her trust, when she cast aside her old life in favor of one with him. He could feel her gratitude, on those nights where he would stay up countless hours to quell her night terrors, giving up everything he’d ever known to keep her safe from those that wanted to hurt her, and doing everything in his power to keep her healthy, even when there was nothing he could do. He could feel her affection, from all those times they would gather close together, for warmth or for comfort, and how she felt as if no single person in the world could ever show her as much conflicting emotions as Trevor Philips. He could read it all, in the way she held that pistol against his forehead and shook, how her eyes watered and her lip trembled, despite how she tried to fake her resolve.

Beverley stood close behind her, her rotting breath making the hairs on her neck curl, and Wave trembled.

"Go on, Wave. You know you want to. It's in your blood to be nasty, heartless and cruel. You can reawaken that if you just pull the trigger. To be emotionless is to be a demigod. And that’s what you were created to do. You know it. I know it. This is the moment that you were born for. This is the evil that you were born to kill. Use that power, Wave. Unleash it. Kill your father."

“Don’t do it, kid,” Michael urged softly next to Trevor. The Canadian’s eyes flickered over to him for a brief moment, but his gaze fixed back on Wave in a heartbeat. “We all know what will happen once the bodies get cleared out. Beverley ain’t gonna let you back in. This is a sick game to her. She’s drawing out the theatrics for as long as she can. You really want that blood on your hands in the last few minutes of your life? You know us; you know us better than you’ll know any of these misguided groupies. This isn’t just another kill. You pull that trigger, and we don’t come back tomorrow. Neither do you. We’ve done a lot together. Don’t end that now. Don’t sink to her level. Don’t be what she wants you to be. Make your own decision here.”

Wave shook even more. Beverley’s grip on her shoulders tightened.

“I’ve given you your choices. If you want to get out of this alive, you’ll choose from what I’ve given you. There is no other way.”

Wave’s shaking increased.

“Listen to me, Wave.” She turned to look at Franklin, and he leaned towards her. “I know you n' I ain’t gotten personal over the course of our thing, but I want you to know that you special to me, dog. I never straight-up thought a girl could go street, but you the most thugged-out hardcore mother fucker I've ever met. But the code is that homies don't bust a cap up in other homies. We've got an unspoken pact, kid; you can't do all dis bullshit. You’re better than what the fuck Beverley says your ass is. This is your moment. This is where you make your fuckin’ mark. What game do you wanna lead, Wave? Is you two bit, or is you three bit?”

Wave blinked, trembling violently at this point. “I…” her arm dropped a little, resting over Trevor’s lips instead of on his brow. “I…”

“Pull the trigger, Wave,” Beverley urged more forcefully than before. “No good can come of these people. You should know this. Look at the trouble they’ve gotten you in. Look at what’s become of you because of their reluctance to own up to their mistakes.”

From the far right, Giselle sighed deeply, head drooped. When she lifted her head, there were tears streaming down her face.

“No one here is the good guy, Wave,” she whispered. “There is no right decision. Look at where you are. Look at the people around you, in front of you. Look at what’s in your hand. Good people don’t do this sort of thing. Good people don’t get into predicaments like this. We have _always_ been in the wrong. It doesn’t matter what you choose now-- nothing you choose will make things right here. But think of this now; nothing you choose will make things any more wrong, either. You have to forge your own path based on what you feel in your heart. Who are you, Wave?”

“Shut up,” Beverley commanded of Gee, growing more agitated with each passing second.

Wave let her gun hang limp by her side, eyes locked on Trevor’s as he stared up into her blues and felt helpless. He swallowed thickly.

“You know what I’m going to say,” he stuttered.

“Then what makes it any different from before?” she asked of him. “What makes this time more worthwhile? Why should I listen to you now?”

Trevor held his breath.

“Because despite everything, I hold no grudge against you. Because despite everything, despite all the punches we’ve thrown, all the yelling contests we’ve had, all the violence we’ve inflicted on one another, I still love you.”

Wave stood frozen still. “You tried to kill me.”

“You tried first,” Trevor replied. “And I’m not talking about Thanksgiving, either.”

Her eyes widened, and she seemed to forget how to breathe as she stared down at him. Her arm was forced up suddenly, gun once again on Trevor’s brow, and the old woman knelt so that her breath was at her ear.

“You have ten seconds to shoot him,” Beverley hissed to Wave, startling her, “before I shoot you all myself!”

Trevor blinked at a sudden flash of movement. ‘ _This is it,_ ’ he thought, _‘she’s shooting me. Fuck, this is it_.’

There was a cry of indignation, two gunshots, the sound of crumpling bodies, more rapid gunfire, a shout of agony, and two more clear gunshots, and the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps, before a door was slammed shut, and Trevor felt Michael leave his side, rushing forwards. Cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Before him were four dead bodies, all with clear headshots, but they weren’t that of his friends or himself. The four kids that had stayed behind to guard Beverley were all dead. The woman herself was nowhere to be found. Michael’s hands had been untied, and he was kneeling before Wave, who was sitting on the floor, head tossed back as she fought miserable whimpers, trying to kick Michael away. Her right shin was bleeding.

“She’s going to send backup,” she insisted, hand dipping in the pooling blood of one of the fallen. “Get the fuck away from me and arm yourselves!”

“You’re gonna bleed out if I don’t do something!” Michael exclaimed, and she kicked him again.

“Then my sacrifice won’t have meant anything unless you guys get out alive! Fucking untie Trevor and those guys and fight back!”

Michael glanced up towards the door, shaking his head. “Ah, fuck,” he muttered angrily, and he pointed to a stack of boxes not far away. “Get to cover, kid, we’ll take care of it.” He rushed over to Franklin first, and once he was freed, handed him one of the weapons that the dead had dropped. Then, he untied Trevor, but not before harshly whispering in his ear, “Keep your fucking distance.”

“I’ll do what I want,” Trevor growled in turn, rubbing the circulation back into his wrists and snatching up one of the dropped weapons. He rushed over to Wave immediately, despite Michael’s request, dragging the white tarp meant to catch their own blood with him. There was just enough time for Michael to free Gee and get a weapon of his own, wincing as his wounded side screamed at him, before the double doors opened, and they flooded in, SMGs raised and ready to fire at the first sign of life.

As Michael, Gee, and Franklin were holding them off, Trevor started tearing up pieces of the tarp-- which was actually just sewn-together bedsheets-- and using it to seal Wave’s wounded leg. His vision blurred as he had a flashback to the first time he’d done this for her so long ago.

Wave watched him work quietly, lips sealed, looking like utter shit. The side of her head was crusted in her own dried blood, and she winced whenever she made a facial expression too extreme.

“We’re not getting out of this one,” she whispered to Trevor.

He peered over the boxes, and just narrowly avoided having his hair split by a bullet. He gave Wave a reassuring smile.

“I’ve been through worse. Had to face both the FIB and Merryweather. This is nothing. We’ll be fine.”

“Fuck you!” Franklin yelled from somewhere, and there was the sound of an explosion, and screaming. Wave and Trevor just stared at each other as he gave her another smile.

“Totally fine.”

She folded her arms and looked away from him. He took her head in his hands and forced her to look at him, having finished bandaging her leg. He was much more gentle than he usually was, and her constant frown softened some.

“I promise, Wave.”

She placed her left hand over his right one.

“I just gave up my last chance to fit back in, Trevor. I don’t have anything anymore.”

“You have me.”

“I don’t want you though,” she whispered.

“I know that’s not true, Wave.”

She sighed through her nose, slowly regaining her strength.

“I don’t know whether to kick your ass or hug you anymore. The line’s been blurred so bad, T, they’re both signs of affection at this point. What the fuck am I supposed to do anymore?”

Trevor looked down, picking up the pistol that was supposed to be his death, and shoving it back into her hands.

“Survive,” he commanded blandly. “Because this world’s gonna be awful fucking empty if you don’t get out of this building alive.”

He made certain her fingers were wrapped tight around the weapon, before snatching his own back up, standing just high enough to see over the edge of the crate he was hiding behind and firing into the oncoming waves of enemies. Wave was quick to join him, and he thought back to the first time they’d teamed up like this against her own people, when he’d lost his trailer and everything he owned there.

There was finally enough of a break in the fighting that they all deemed it safe to regroup, and they came to stand together against the wall next to the door. Wave limped along, her leg once again braced by Trevor's handiwork, just like that first night nine months ago. Nothing else could really be done, but it was good for now.

“We can’t let Beverley get away again,” Wave said to all of them. “This has to fucking end, or we’re never going to be free. We’re never going to get away from this. She might have even already left by now, but we’ve got to fucking try. If she’s still in the building, it’ll be on the top floor, locked away in one of the farthest offices. I say we clear out the building, and if she’s not here, lay low until she pops her head somewhere again and close in on her.”

“We ain’t got fuckin’ time to play cat and mouse,” Michael complained.

“Do you have a better idea?” Wave demanded to know.

In response, Michael held up his hands defensively.

“That’s what I thought.” She motioned towards the door. “This fucking ends now.”

* * *

 

They all worked their way up, shooting their way through any resistance, until they finally made it to the top floor. They tried all the doors, until they found one that was barricaded shut from the inside. Whatever she had blocked the door with, it was too heavy to move from outside.Giselle had even shot out the lock, but they couldn’t get the door to open.

Trevor banged on the door. "Beverley, get your scrawny ass out here and let me skull-fuck you! I’m gonna hang your head over my fucking mantlepiece, huh?!"

From within, they could hear her muffled voice. "I need backup! Where the _fuck_ are you brats?!"

Wave kicked the door with her good foot. "It's over, Bev! You've got nowhere to go! Get out here, and _maybe_ I'll let you kiss my ass before I give you your ticket to Hell!"

The door was pelted with bullets from the other side, and everyone bolted out of the way before anyone could be seriously injured.There was a large enough hole created by the gunfire that they could clearly see what was going on within. They all watched as the woman ran up the fire escape.

"Get up there!" Franklin commanded, punching in the door enough that there was room for them to slip through. "Shit, everyone get in the office!" He helped Michael in, who was wheezing and gasping desperately, the pain in his side too much. The wound had re-opened, and was soaking through his bandages. Once he was propped against the wall, he gathered his breath, looking up at Trevor.

"Wave wants to go up there," Michael stated, "and she can't go up there alone. Trevor, fuck, I can’t believe I’m saying this. You gotta go with her. Frank and Gee can stay down here with me. We’ll hold off the reinforcements"

Trevor's instincts flared into action. The last time he'd left Michael in a situation like this, he hadn't seen him again for ten years, mourning for him and living in squalor. But things were different now, right?

"You'll be okay, right?” Trevor knelt down, taking Michael’s head in his hands and forcing him to look at him. “Promise, Townley. Fucking promise me."

Michael looked deep into Trevor’s eyes. Something unspoken passed between the two of them that no one could even begin to try to comprehend or transcribe in their heads, but whatever wordless affirmation Michael had given him, it seemed to placate Trevor. He stood up, motioning to Wave to follow him up the fire escape.”

“Wave, follow me. We'll get that bitch! Teach her what she's fucking worth!"

The man and girl jumped out the window and clambered up the fire escape together, Wave leading the way. They reached the roof of the building, but didn’t see anything. The only sign that she was up there was the gunshot that flew past their heads, and they dove for cover as Beverley spoke.

"What do you think killing me will accomplish? What are you idiots striving for? Revenge? Redemption? Do you think it'll make you a better person? You still won't be any better than the rest of the trash in this city!"

"Did you stuff a joint in your brain, too?" Trevor shook his head. "Because I think you smoked away all your common sense, you dumb bitch! No one here has the higher moral ground!"

Wave stepped in. "Don't try to justify all the wrong you've done, Beverley. Nothing you can say will change what you've done. You've taken innocent children from their families and turned them into monsters. You exploited the corrupt FIB to your horrendous ways, destroyed countless residencies just looking for us, tore me and Trevor apart, and you think that you can just _smooth talk_ your way out of this? Make us poof away everything you’ve done?"

"I’m not trying to get out of this. I don't care if I die anymore! All I want is to see one of you dead. At least one, so I can tear apart all that you love! So that I can die with the satisfaction of knowing you were just as miserable as I was!"

She opened fire on the air vent Trevor was cowering behind, and he moved again. Wave peered over her blockade and shot at Beverley. She missed, reached to reload, and realized she was out of bullets.

"Oh, shit!"

Trevor looked over, and yelled at Wave. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

She was going to shrug, but something landed in the space between them, and both of their eyes went wide.

Grenade.

Wave shouted, scrambling backwards on her hands and knees, but they both knew there wasn’t going to be enough time to get away from the blast. He watched, in slow motion, as she hurried back, knowing that there was only one way that she was going to get out of this in one piece. Trevor threw himself forwards, draping himself over Wave and cradling her head tightly in one arm while holding her torso to his in the other. In the next second, the grenade exploded, the blast propelling Trevor and Wave forwards, towards the edge of the roof. They stopped just short of it after tumbling over each other, and they lay side by side, ears ringing and bodies aching.

Trevor didn’t feel the pain of his burns until a few moments later, and he gasped as it hit him full force, before letting loose an agonized wail, rolling off his back and onto his hands and knees. He could hear footsteps approaching from behind, and before he had time to react, Wave was being yanked up by her short, blonde hair, shouting and grasping at Beverley’s hand.

"You should have _listened_ to me!" Beverley kneed her in her gut, and a rush of air left her at the impact. "You should have remained with _us_!" Wave was shoved down to her back. “You should have killed him when you had the chance!" Beverley used the butt of her assault rifle to hit Wave square in the chest, and there were three loud cracks, then a murderous scream of pain. The scene was blocked from Trevor's view, but he was smart enough to infer what had happened. He stumbled to his feet, searching for something, anything, to use against her, but their weapons had been knocked away in the blast. There was nothing.

Beverley knelt down to Wave, smiling something that could only be described as the embodiment of enraged insanity.

“But you had to be a big kid, huh? You had to grow up and branch out. Look at where that got you. Look at what that has given you. And when I gave you a redeeming chance, you threw it back in my face. You must think you’re living some sort of dream, huh? Like you’re sleepwalking, or something?”

The woman pointed the barrel of the gun down at Wave’s head as she writhed on the ground.

“Time to wake up.”

Trevor screamed at the top of his lungs, running forwards at full speed and tackling Beverley to the ground, freeing Wave from her grasp.

"Get off of me!" She tried to fight him off as he attempted to take one of her guns from under her.

"Gimme--" He was going to reach for the pistol at her hip, but her belt snapped, and since he wasn't expecting it, the force from him pulling it sent him reeling head over heels. The belt, along with its weapons, sailed off of the roof. Beverley shot up, attempting to run, but Trevor managed to catch her foot. Her nose fractured on the concrete as she tripped.

"You're not going anywhere, you fucker!" He yanked her back, and with all the strength he could muster, he threw her into the side of one of the air-vents on the roof. Still, she tried to run, and Trevor couldn't catch her this time. She leapt from the roof onto a neighboring building, and continued to run.

"Damnit!" Trevor ran after her, making the same jump. He caught up to her before she could jump again, dragging her to the ground. Beverley kicked Trevor in the face, sending him flying back, and he lay there writhing. He was tired. He was tired, beaten, and broken. He was just going to roll on to his side, but she was stepping on his chest, preventing him from moving at all. When he looked up, he could see the sun rising behind her, and the glint of a knife.

“I’ve had it with you,” she snarled, and raised the knife high above her head, ready to toss it down through Trevor’s skull. He only laid there, too exhausted to move, and his vision spun wildly.

There was a gunshot somewhere, and Trevor shut his eyes tight. He thought it was finally him, as it should have been so long ago, and he felt blood splatter over him. But then, he realized, that was irrational thinking; Beverley didn’t have a gun. When he opened his eyes, she was already collapsing backwards. Beverley fell to the roof, dead, a bullet hole straight through her neck. It was her blood on him. The knife lay just next to his head.

Just like that, it was over. He could hear the ringing in his ears now that the screaming and the hellfire and the own pounding of his heart had calmed down. He watched as blood pooled around the corpse, staining the ground in iron.

Trevor craned his head to look behind him at the sound of approaching footsteps. Giselle stepped over Trevor carefully, staring down at the corpse’s head, and fired again into her skull just to make sure the woman was actually dead. Then, she gently nudged Trevor with her foot.

“Come on, asshole,” she said to him. “You’re not done in this world yet. Get up. Or at least sit up. Fuck, I don't know, just stop lying there and being useless.”

Reluctantly, Trevor complied, slowly willing his aching, burnt body to sit up. He sat there with his head resting on his knees, quietly breathing deep to regain his wits. It was over.

There was the sound of someone tumbling behind him, and he looked up to see Wave. She gasped, clutching at the left side of her chest, where her ribs had been broken, but she still stumbled her way over to Trevor. He held out his arms, and she tumbled in to them, sobbing with relief.

“Fuck,” she cried into him, “when I heard the fucking gun shot, I thought-- I thought--”

“It’ll take more than a couple bullet holes to kill me, kid,” he assured her.

She clutched on to his shirt tighter, dampening the fabric with her tears. “Fuck, Trevor, fuck. I-- I love you. I love you, Trevor, fuck, fuck, don’t leave me again. Please don’t leave me…”

Trevor’s heart sailed into his throat. He pet at her hair and cradled her close to his chest.

"I know, baby girl, I'm here. It's ok now. I'm here."

They stayed that way for what seemed to them to be not long enough. It would never be long enough again, especially not for Trevor. They were free. It was over.

From the roof of the other building, Michael and Franklin called over to Gee, Trevor, and Wave. “Hey, assholes!” Michael shouted. “I’m glad you’re having a touchy reunion, but we’ve got to get the hell out of here before the cops show up!”

“Yep,” Trevor agreed, and Wave helped him to his feet while Giselle lead the way to the roof access door. “Yep, okay.” He smiled down at Wave, who returned the kind gesture, and they all met up again on the ground floor. The reunion celebration didn’t last long, and they were all driving away just minutes before the police came to investigate the brutal, bloody scene.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only chapter warning is injections

They all met up just off the dirt path out of the way of the Murrieta Oil field, one car after the other pulling in and coming to a halt, the dirt they had kicked up flying high in the air and over the hills to the east. Trevor, Wave, and Gee were first, and were quickly followed by Franklin and Michael, respectively. Michael pulled his car up in front of Trevor’s truck, and Franklin parked just behind him, effectively trapping the crazed Canadian.

When he saw this, Trevor sighed. He knew what this was going to be about. He had been hoping that they would have forgotten in the midst of their battle wounds and the chaos and exhaustion, but no-- Michael was just as determined as ever to get Waverly away from him, though they had only just been reunited.

Wave looked behind and in front of them, confused. “What’s going on?”

Trevor saw no reason to lie to her. “They want to take you from me. After everything I’ve done for you, they want to take you away from me.”

Wave sat still, and gulped. Trevor and Gee both hopped out of the truck, while she remained seated in the passenger seat.

They came face to face with Michael and Franklin, who had come to meet them halfway, looking stern and stubborn. Michael placed his hands on his hips, tilting his head in that stupid tick that he had, and Franklin folded his arms.

“Give her up, Trevor,” Michael urged calmly. “You know this ain’t where she belongs. You know this isn’t what’s meant for her. She’s meant for greater things. Things bigger than either you or me could ever be. The only way she can recognize her true potential is in a place where she’s safe, no matter what. She ain’t safe with us.”

Trevor shook his head adamantly. “We’ve been through too much to part ways now, Mikey. You know she can’t leave me. She’s a part of me. I’m not whole without her anymore. I’ll--”

“You’ve still got me,” he pointed out. “I’m still here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Wave isn’t meant for this, T. You’ve heard the old saying, haven’t ya? ‘If you love something, you’ll let it go,’ right? She can’t be everything she can with you. She ain’t got enough legroom.”

Giselle came between Michael and Trevor, standing tall. “It’s her decision to make, not ours. She’d do best with Trevor, I think, but it’s not our decision.”

“She don’t fuckin’  _ belong  _ here, Gee!” Franklin exclaimed. “Ain’t you been with T’s crazy ass enough to put the fuckin’ puzzle pieces together? They’re relationship is fucked! It’s fuckin’ dangerous for her to stick with him! Shit, he nearly put her under! That’s the whole fuckin’ reason we’re here today is he almost kicked her over the edge!”

“It’s not going to happen again,” Trevor said, trying to convince them. “I’ve learned from my mistakes, alright? I’m going to treat her right from now on. I’m gonna give her the love she deserves, something only I can give her. Anyone can pet her hair, tell her they love her, but it won’t be  _ me _ .”

“That’s the whole  _ fuckin’ point _ !” Michael was screeching at Trevor by this point. “The way you look at her and give her affection when you’re not beating the shit out of her isn’t normal, Trevor! She’s gonna grow up fucked in the head if she don’t get in a normal fucking environment! The possessiveness is borderlining incestuous by this point, T, and I can’t let it go any further. She  _ has  _ to go to get the fuck away from you!”

“Listen to me, Townley,” Trevor rumbled like a thunderstorm, “I plucked her off of the streets when she had nothing left, and I nursed her back to health. I gave up  _ everything  _ to keep being with her, even when I had nothing left to give. I protected her, loved her, I fucking raised her the past year, she is my family now! She’s not an intern, or a protégé, or an asset, she’s a  _ human being,  _ and her place is with me, whether you fucking like it or not!”

“She  _ has  _ to go!” Michael insisted again, taking a step closer to Trevor, fists clenched by his sides. “You ain’t gonna be good to her once this all settles down! I get how this works, Trevor! I was abused by my dad, and you know this! I know how the fucking cycle works, and things ain’t gonna get better from this point forwards!”

“It’s  _ different  _ with me!”

Michael scoffed, giving a harsh, fake, bitter laugh. “Oh, oh, fuck me, it’s different, oh man, how didn’t I see that? Oh, thank fuck, it’s fucking different! Well, enlighten me then, how is it any fucking different? How does the manipulation and the lying vary from other abusive relationships I’ve seen out there? Huh? Enlighten me, tell me, because either I’m blind, or  _ you  _ are.”

“I love her, Michael!”

“A lot of abusers do,” Michael shouted. “A lot of abusers love their victims, so tell me how this is different again?”

They were almost face to face now, shoving back and forth, Trevor snarling like a trapped animal, Michael baring his teeth in an immovable defense. They stared each other down, the heat of the morning rising, along with their tempers. From behind them, there was a gasp, and a shout of terror. They turned around to see Wave scrambling out of the Bodhi, cowering in front of the vehicle, then heard the sound of approaching vehicles.

“Shit, shit,” Franklin hissed, “what the fuck is it now!?”

They all drew their weapons, ready to fire, before seeing the sheer number of vehicles approaching, and the logos on the sides that they knew they could not fight-- not with the equipment they had now.

It was both NOOSE and the FIB.

The six vans surrounded them-- five NOOSE related and one FIB labeled-- coming to a halt. The back doors of the NOOSE vehicles swung open, and six armed men emerged from each vehicle, guns pointed in the middle of the circle.

“Drop your weapons!” one of them commanded. “Drop them now or we will open fire!”

They complied immediately, frightened beyond what they thought possible. Four of the agents darted towards Trevor’s truck, coming around the front and aiming down at Wave.

“Get up!” they shouted, and two of them grabbed her roughly by her arms. “Get in the fucking circle!”

“Leave her alone--” Trevor was going to shout, but Franklin elbowed him in his side, shutting him up.

“Let’s not get fucking shot, Trevor,” he commanded harshly. He looked around with wide, terrified eyes. The armed forces closed in immediately, forcing everyone to their knees and locking their arms behind their backs. They had broken free from one force, just to wind up in the hands of another, more powerful group.

Once they were certain the criminals were immobilized, one of the NOOSE agents held a hand to his ear, activating an earpiece. “They’ve been disabled. Bring out Jason.”

The criminals all looked at each other, and in front of them, the back doors of the FIB van swung open. From the vehicle emerged five more armed personnel, and one man in just as much armor, but without a weapon of any sort. He approached quickly at first, but the closer he got, the more his pace slowed. He came to a stop just in front of Waverly, who was glaring up at him with clenched teeth and fire in her blue eyes.

The man knelt down, and Trevor had to hold himself back from leaping at him and getting them all killed.

“It’s you,” he said reverently, and he reached out a hand to touch her, before probably realizing what a horrible idea that would be, and placed it back in his crouched lap. “It’s really you. 696.”

Trevor’s breath hitched.  _ 696 _ .

They’d found her.

The man in front of Wave reached into his pocket, procuring a badge.

"My name is Jason Handlson. I'm the Associate Executive Assistant Director for the National Security Branch of the FIB, and I'm here for you, kid. You should have been dead a real fuckin’ long time ago. It’s time to fix that.”

At first, everyone was too shocked at the sudden turn of events. But Jason Handlson patted the side of her cheek, and she thrashed, hissing at him. It was enough to jar Trevor back to his senses.

“How the fuck did you find us,” Trevor barked. He had thought that Lester had covered their tracks, kept her off of the radar. How the fuck did they know she was alive? “How did you find her?”

“Voice recognition,” Jason replied smoothly, snapping his fingers, and one of the NOOSE agents came forwards, procuring an empty needle. Jason tapped at it, before jamming it into Wave’s arm, sucking out a blood sample. “That building you were just in fighting those damn Urban Tigers? Thanks for that, by the way, you saved us a lot of work-- Yeah, the security cameras don’t have visuals anymore, but the audio picked you guys up. We’d been scoping out the place for a while and planning an attack, but then we heard 696 in there. We weren’t sure at first because it was so garbled and shitty, but when you went in that top office room? Camera in there was in peak condition. We got a match.”

The four of them looked amongst each other, eyes wide and frames shaking. There was no way this was happening. Not now.

“Shit,” Gee said, shaking her head, “look, you-- she doesn’t have to go. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“You  _ abandoned  _ her project,” Trevor pointed out.

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, “we did, but that was before she nearly single-handedly took down an entire gang, with a little help from you guys. We’re interested again. But there’s another reason 696 has to come with us--”

“Her name is Waverly Philips.”

Jason looked up from the anesthetic he was just about to administer to Wave. “What was that?”

Trevor spat and seethed, clenching his hands behind his back as they all stared at him. He sat up, straighter than he had been before, and puffed out his chest with pride and possession.

“Her name… is Wave. Waverly fucking Philips. She’s not a fucking number. She’s not a nickname, like Jet Black. It’s Waverly Philips.”

Jason blinked, staring at Trevor, and he slowly set the anesthetic back down in its case.

“You got more attached than we anticipated,” he lamented, suddenly showing deep emotion. “Shit. Look, Mr. Philips, I get it. You get attached to kids and all you want to do is throw your life on the line to defend them. I get that-- I’ve got a daughter and three sons. But this isn’t just about her abilities anymore. It’s a matter of not just public safety, but public health as well.”

He gestured to another NOOSE agent, and he walked forwards, handing Jason a file. He flipped it open, standing up and pacing as he began to read.

“In a nutshell," Jason informed them, "they found out what causes those little scary episodes she has, with the seizures and all that. You saw one of those, right?”

Trevor just gave him a noncommittal shrug. Jason continued to read.

“It's a deteriorating agent in her DNA, a sort of contained radioactivity. It breaks down chromosomes, then creates cancerous cells from the remains, which infect nervous cells. It’s like a sort of Cordyceps, minus the, you know, zombieism and the fungus. This is what causes all those scary symptoms, and yeah, she gets temporarily more powerful from it before it cools down, but it’s, as far as we know as of yet, incurable. That means that this disease will progress, she will continue to have these episodes, and it will eventually-- probably the next time she has it, actually-- it will eventually prove lethal to her, and, as far as we know, anyone that comes into contact with her. Our docs back on home base theorize that the more she has episodes, the more contagious it will become. The only way to stop the disease from spreading is to eliminate the host."

He snapped the file shut, and handed it back to the NOOSE agent.

“That is why she has to go.”

Michael shook, staring at Wave like she was a ghost. “It can't be true! Tell me it's not!”

Jason held out his arms empathetically. “Well, Mr. de Santa, if you want me to lie…”

“F-fuck you,” Trevor spat, shaking even more than Michael was. “You’re full of bullshit. She’s-- l-look, I’m not sick. No one’s sick, alright? Your report is full of bullshit.”

“We can’t take the risk, Trevor,” Jason replied, reaching for the needle again. “It’s a matter of public safety. She has to be eliminated.”

Wave sat there on her knees, trembling, wordless, as she stared at the needle approaching her. In a last-ditch attempt for mercy, Trevor threw himself in front of her, stopping Jason.

“Five fucking minutes!” he begged, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. This was the FIB and NOOSE-- he couldn’t fight the both of them. None of them could. But he had too much he wanted to say, and not enough time. He had to beg. He needed to do this. “Five fucking minutes!” he shouted. “Just five, okay?! That’s all I fucking want!”

Jason took a step back, looking down at Trevor with his head tilted to one side. He saw the desperate look in his eyes, and the broken, defeated look in Wave’s. He looked off to one side, running a hand over his mouth, and he stepped away, waving his hand in the air.

“Five minutes,” he said dejectedly, and the NOOSE agents relaxed, dropping their weapons to their sides.

Everyone crowded around Wave.

“We’re gonna get out of this one--”

“Lester probably knows what’s going on, he’s got a plan--”

“If we can all run to the northwest--”

“We can break out of this, get their guns, get behind the trucks--”

“What if we played dead--”

Waverly shook her head violently. “Stop, stop fucking  _ stop! Shut up _ !”

Everyone stopped talking. She sighed heavily, looking all around her. No one said anything, knowing the truth. There truly was no second option here. Not with NOOSE all around them, ready to pull the trigger at a moment’s notice. They all glanced around at each other, not certain what to say in a situation like this.

Eventually, Trevor’s forehead came to rest against her temple.

"Remember the day I met you, kid?"

Wave said nothing, only closed her eyes as tears streamed down her face.

"Almost ten months now. A whole year. A whole year we’ve known each other. Christ, Wave, look at us. Look at what we’ve become. Look at what we’ve made each other. Christ."

“I’m scared of death,” she confessed in a whimper.

“They won’t make it hurt,” Michael reassured her, choking back tears. “It’ll be like going to sleep. It won’t hurt at all. They aren’t gonna make you suffer.”

“They might just shoot me.”

“They won’t make you suffer,” he insisted.

“The public will find out if they do,” Gee said. “That’s how it always happens. Someone spills and then it’s all over. You won’t die for nothing, no matter how you go. You fought to the end, Wave, and we’re so fucking proud of you.”

“You’ll be top tier in the next life,” Franklin said. “You’re gonna reclaim your fuckin’ throne, no matter where you go, kid. Shit, it’ll be okay.”

Wave only sat there, listening to their meaningless words pointlessly, before knocking Trevor’s head away. He opened his eyes, and he looked at her.

"Promise me something, T. All of you, promise me something."

He stared into her blue eyes. They seemed duller than when he'd first noticed them. "What is it?" he asked quietly.

"Promise me that you won't change a damn thing,” she demanded of them all. “Don't die on me, now. Live like you don't have a choice. But when you can't live anymore, don't ever change, so when you all meet me in Hell, I'll recognize you. That way, we can kick Lucifer's ass together, and I won't have to fucking interrogate everyone trying to find you all. Meet me at the obsidian gates, we’ll all go in together and fuck shit up. All of you, promise me right now."

All of them gave their affirmation, whether wordless or not. Wave drooped her head, exhausted.

"Even when I'm at the end of the tunnel, I won’t forget all the right and wrong you’ve all done by me. It all counts, every last second. It’s all that defines me now."

Trevor snarled under his breath. "Damn it,” and his voice wavered. “This isn't the end."

“No,” she agreed. “Just the close of a chapter. We’ll meet up again.”

From all around them, there was the rattle of weapons being raised again. They all sat up straighter, keeping their distance from Wave, save for Trevor, who didn’t move a centimeter. Jason came close again, kneeling down with that needle in his hands.

“Move, Trevor,” he commanded.

“Just do it,” he spat, and Wave leaned against him as Trevor stared daggers in to Jason. “I won’t stop you. Just fucking do it.”

Jason gulped, tapping the needle to get out air bubbles, then injected the substance into Wave’s arm. It wasn’t the killing solution yet-- just a way to placate her until they could do the deed back in whatever secret place they were going to take her. As Wave felt herself slipping under, she gasped, eyes going wide even as they glazed over, and she looked at Trevor, frightened.

“Shh, shh,” he urged against her head, his tears falling freely now, and they dripped onto her reappearing black hairline. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m right here. I’m here, Wavey baby. You’re gonna be okay. It’s not gonna hurt. Just let it happen. Just let it happen, you’ll be okay. I’m right here. I’ll always be right here. And when you wake up, they’re going to treat you like fucking royalty, right up to your last breath, you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine…”

She had long slipped under, long before he had finished talking, fallen asleep so quickly, her eyes hadn’t had time to close all the way. Jason pushed them shut softly, then stood up. Trevor whimpered when he felt her limp form against him. She felt so lifeless against him like this. Her heart was still beating, as strong as ever, but she felt lifeless and limp. Two agents stepped forwards with a stretcher, and they took her from Trevor. As soon as her body heat left his, Trevor started to panic.

“Wave-- Waverley, Wavey baby, I love you, okay? I fucking love you, fuck, fuck! Don't you  _ dare _ hurt her! Don't let her last moments be in fucking agony, you hear me!? Don't even-- don’t even think of hurting her even once, you got that?! I’ll find you! I’ll find you and I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you all!"

Jason stood by as Wave was carried to the FIB truck, and once the criminals’ weapons were confiscated, their handcuffs were unlocked. Jason stood at the back of the truck, one foot in, as he addressed them for the final time.

“She won’t feel a thing, Mr. Philips. I promise. 696-- Wave, won’t even know she’s going.”

Trevor stood with his fists by his side, teeth clenched so hard together he could feel himself pushing his teeth back into his gums. The FIB truck was the third to leave, then the rest of the NOOSE crew followed thereafter.

They were left in the dust, left to pick up the pieces by themselves.

* * *

 

The keys to the apartment were tossed into Trevor’s lap. He glared at Gee with confusion, and she glared back down at him. He muted the TV blindly in order to listen to what she had to say.

“I’m leaving LS,” she informed him blankly.

Trevor frowned. “Why?”

“I got a job offer,” she said. “Salt Flats.”

He looked around the apartment. So that’s why she’d been cleaning out so thoroughly. She was leaving. She’d packed up, he noticed, as he stared at multiple bags waiting by the door that he hadn’t noticed before. He glanced back up at her, much more softly than before.

“So the place is mine,” he asked.

“It’s yours,” she confirmed. “Just like that. You need it, anyways.”

He forced himself off of the loveseat, grunting as the burns on his back and his legs complained, patched up but still screaming.

“Guess I’ll help you with the bags.”

“Thanks.”

He looked at the calendar on his way out the door. It’d been a week and a half since he’d lost her. There was no doubt in his mind that she was somewhere up in the clouds or burning in Hell by now. Probably the latter of the two. There was no way they would have kept her alive for this long. He took two bags, and Giselle took another two. They walked down the stairs in silence, the cloudless blue skies doing nothing to lighten their somber, final mood. The only sound to break the quiet was the crunching of their shoes on the asphalt.

Her blue Dominator was spotless-- she had taken it to the wash recently. He had thought it would be a lighter shade of blue, but it was rather vivid, now that it was clean and he was looking at it.

“You’re driving the whole way there?” he asked as she popped the trunk.

“I’m gonna try,” she said. “I’m shit for gas money, so we’ll see what kinds of deals I can get, or what cop cars I can siphon from.”

Trevor rolled his eyes, taking five hundred dollars from his wallet and tucking it under her bra strap, which was visible just past her shirt collar. Giselle didn’t even blink.

“Thanks,” she said again, and she threw her bags into the back of the car. “Warning about the master bathroom, by the way-- the toilet leaks if you sit on it for too long. Keep all bathroom excursions in there to a limit of five minutes if you can. Also, any dildos I’ve forgotten you can keep. I’ve seen what you’ve been collecting.”

“How generous.” Trevor looked up at the sky after he threw in the rest of the bags. “If you get going now, you can make it to the California border by six.”

“That’s the plan.” Giselle closed the trunk, then turned to Trevor, holding out her hand. He took it, and they shook firmly.

“I hope things get better for you,” she said.

“Likewise.”

She hesitated for a moment; it seemed as though there was more she wanted to say, but wasn’t sure how to go about it. She took a step back, before running a hand through her hair and just spitting it out.

“I was always taught that every person we ever encounter, no matter how long for, always means something to us in the long run. Everyone. A brush of the shoulder, a sideways glance-- it all means something. Well, Trevor, I say, horseshit. Only those close to us make a difference. And fuck, Wave and you were closer than anything I’d ever seen, despite all your fights and your differences. She’s changed you. You haven’t realized what she’s changed you into yet, but she’s for damn well sure had an impact on you.  _ That’s  _ what I believe in-- the impact of those close to us. So if you can, I want you to sit down, and think for a moment. How has your time with Wave changed you? Has your time with me changed you? I know you changed me.”

Trevor gave her an odd, narrow eyed glare as he stepped back, allowing her room to back out of her parking space.

“Nothing ever changes with me,” he said to her. “I get a little older, a little wiser, and a little more lonely, but nothing ever changes.”

Giselle nodded in understanding from the driver’s door. She stepped inside the vehicle, turning over the engine, and backing out. Trevor gave the hood of the car a tap with a closed fist, and she honked briefly, before pulling forwards, around the corner, and out of sight.

And just like that, Trevor was alone.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: Death threats

Once again, The Los Santos sunsets meant nothing to Trevor. No matter what color they were, no matter how fierce they were or how quickly they were moving across the light pink and purple skies, they would always be black and white forever more. Everything was colorless. Just like those crummy old movies Michael liked to watch so much. He stared down blandly at the busy streets beneath him, cars honking irritably at one another as they hurried to get home, or to the bar, or wherever else they were hurrying off to. It was all the same, every night. There was no quiet anymore.

He clutched at the balcony railing and looked up at the sky, fighting back tears yet again. He needed to get back to Blaine County, away from all this city crap. He had to get away from what reminded him of  _ her _ . It'd been two months, and he still couldn't get over her. Then again, you don't just "get over" a loss like that.

He found, strangely enough, that he missed Giselle’s presence, and wished that there was some sort of way to contact her, but she hadn’t left any contact info. She didn't leave a number or anything. Not that she needed to. Lester could find her in a heartbeat if he wanted to, but what would be the point? What would he say to her? He didn’t love her. She wasn’t his friend. She was just the woman he’d been living with, and yet just the sound of another human being in the same living space had been enough. Now, there was nothing.

He stepped back into the bedroom, the oppressive summer air becoming too much, and shut the window. He laid on his bed, but he wouldn’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep anymore. All he would see in his mind was her. Her, screaming obscenities at him, crying blood as she reached out to him. Whether it was to hold him or kill him, he could never tell. Her, surrounded by legions of doctors and killers, all wanting her for their own purposes. For war. For science. For knowledge. For peace. And no matter how hard he would try, no matter what he did, there would be nothing he could do to save her. Every time, she was dragged away.

He didn’t sleep anymore. The dark rings under his old eyes proved that.

He reached over to the nightstand table, grabbing his phone, and entering his Snapmatic app. He went into his collections, looking at the few scant photos he had to remember her by. They almost weren’t right, in a way. The smiling faces, the heads tilted back in laughter and mirth, almost weren’t right. But he knew that they did have their moments of peace-- their moments where they would laugh and sing their praises and their love, dancing in the streets in midnight, waving around loaded guns like toys. They did have calm moments in their relationship. There were times where they could be considered almost normal.  _ Almost _ .

He wiped at his eyes with the palm of his hand.

He thumbed through a few more pictures, before finding something he hadn’t remembered taking-- video. Trevor’s breath caught in his throat.

Was he going to have the energy to look at this?

His thumb made the decision for him, tapping on the thumbnail. The images sprung to life. They were in the truck, driving down the road somewhere. She was singing along to something-- a song he couldn’t remember the name of, but would later recollect in the midst of a dream--  _ Arsonist’s Lullaby _ . The wind blew past the speaker and made the audio scratchy and ear-grating, but her voice powered through.

 

“ _ When I was sixteen, my senses fooled me;  
_ _ I thought gasoline was on my clothes.  
_ _ I knew that something would always rule me.  
_ __ I knew the scent was mine alone.

_ All you have is your fire,  
_ _ And the place you need to reach.  
_ _ Don't you ever tame your demons,  
_ __ But always keep them on a leash.

_ When I was a man, I thought it ended,  
_ _ When I knew love's perfect ache,  
_ _ But my peace has always depended  
_ __ On all the ashes in my wake.

_ All you have is your fire,  
_ _ And the place you need to reach.  
_ _ Don't you ever tame your demons,  
_ __ But always keep them on a leash. ”

 

Trevor held his breath as the tears streamed down his face. Hearing her voice like this, broken by wind and crummy video quality, was too much for him. He let himself sob, the device dropping to his side on the bed as he curled in on himself, whispering promises and apologies to a person that wasn’t there.

* * *

 

Michael sat and stared at the empty lot where the Vanilla Unicorn used to be, swirling around his beer bottle absentmindedly. He looked down into it, before taking a sip. It was warm, and shitty. He screwed up his face at the taste. He shouldn’t have let it sit for so long. After shaking his head at his own stupidity, he tossed it into the empty lot, satisfied when it burst apart and glass shards scattered everywhere. He rubbed at his side, the scar from where he’d been shot causing a bump over his abdomen that he didn’t much care for.

He yanked his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts, hovering over Trevor’s name, before scrolling around aimlessly. Trevor never answered his phone anymore; there was no point in calling him. He instead went to Franklin’s number, dialing that. He waited for Franklin to reply, smiling at the sound of the young man’s voice.

“Shit, Michael, what’s good, man?”

“Oh, you know,” Michael sighed, “same old bullshit. You?”

Franklin laughed on the other end. “Shit, it never does change, does it?”

“Nothing ever changes. Hey, have you heard from Trevor lately? He don’t answer my calls anymore.”

“Ah, shit,” Franklin lamented. “Nah, man. Fuck, I thought that crazy ass fool wasn’t ever letting you out of his sight again?”

“Well, I mean…” Michael pursed his lips. “We talked a little, a couple times after… well, you know… we lost Wave… but he’s just kind of… shut down, for the most part. God, I can’t help but wonder if it was this bad when I left him back in Yankton. God, it makes me feel like shit. I mean, he should get over this, right? He got over me… sort of.”

“Michael, that fucker tracked down your ass when he found out you wasn’t dead. I don’t think he ever got over that shit. I still don’t think he’s over it. You could probably bounce town again, only this time, the poor fuck wouldn’t even know for a couple months.”

Michael snickered. “Yeah, yeah, shit. No, Frank, I’m not goin’ anywhere. A worthwhile suggestion, but I’m done running. I just don’t got the energy for that anymore.”

He shook his head.

“I am worried about Trevor, though. I really fucking am. It’s… bad. It’s real fuckin’ bad, kid. Should I-- should we maybe--”

“Nah, nah,” Franklin butt in, “don’t you ever say ‘we’ when it comes to dealin’ with T. That shit up to you, I don’t want that fucker on my bad side, depressed or not.”

Michael shook his head again, tilting it. “Jesus, alright. I ain’t his tamer, Frank. But I do fuckin’ worry. He’s my best friend; it’s my job to be worried.”

“An’ that’s real fuckin’ noble,” Franklin agreed, “but he’s a grown ass adult. If he feelin’ like shit, he should be taking care of himself.”

“That’s the problem, Franklin. Trevor, when he gets upset, he reverts to like a little kid. He gets his feelings hurt way easy, and then he just bounces back from it. This is different. This is a genuine depression, and he don’t get in funks like this often, but when he does--”

His phone beeped in his ear suddenly, causing Michael to jump a little. He pulled his head away to look down at the screen, and he cursed under his breath.

“Hey, kid, I’m getting another call. I’ll call you back if I ain’t busy after this.”

“Shit, alright, peace, M.”

Michael ended the call with Franklin, then answered the opposing line. “Hello?”

A woman’s voice on the other end of the line piped up. “Is this Mr. de Santa? Michael de Santa?”

Michael looked around him, lips thin and straight. “Yep, that’s me. Can I help you?”

“Yes,” the woman replied. “Agent Jason Handlson has been attempting to reach a Mr. Trevor Philips for some time now, but he has been unresponsive. You are listed here as a secondary contact in the case of subject resurgence.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on a second,” Michael commanded, standing up at the information overload. Jason? Subject resurgence? He had no clue what was going on. “Jason? What the hell does he want now? Hasn’t he done enough?”

“Mr. Handlson was simply performing his civic duty to his employers and state. However, there has been a development in a case, which I have not been given the information to, that requires either your attention, Mr. Franklin Clinton’s attention, Ms. Giselle Townshend’s attention, or Mr. Trevor Philips’ attention. You have been the first contact I have been able to get a hold of, and your presence is therefore requested at the FIB headquarters. Please either confirm or deny that you can be here within the hour.”

Michael blinked rapidly, still attempting to digest the information given to him. “Yeah,” he said at length, figuring he didn’t have anything to lose by going down. They didn’t have anything on him-- there was no blackmail material like there had been before. “I’ll head down right now.”

“Excellent. I will inform Mr. Handlson right away. Thank you, Mr. de Santa.”

“Yeah,” Michael grunted, walking around to the driver’s side of his vehicle. “I’ll be there soon.”

Once he hung up on the assistant, he redialed Franklin’s number as he got into the driver’s seat of his Tailgater. The other man picked up instantly.

“Everything good?” he inquired.

“You know what? I really don’t know,” Michael said to him honestly, pulling out of his parking space. “I just got contacted by Jason’s assistant.”

“Jason who?”

“Handlson. The fuckin’ Fed.”

“Oh, shit,” Franklin gasped. He lowered his voice to whisper into the receiver. “Do you think--”

“They don’t got nothin’ on us, kid. Besides, this is Jason. He’s probably got Wave’s ashes or something to give to me. I don’t know, why the fuck else would he contact me? I’m sure it’s nothing but, uh, if I vanish, I just wanted you to know where I was heading off to.”

“Fuck, man,” he breathed out, “yeah, shit, okay. I hear ya. Got ya down.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Michael promised, before hanging up. Even as he reassured himself that nothing was going to go wrong, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy as the miles counted down to his destination.

* * *

 

The elevator to one of the basement floors slid open, and Michael stepped out cautiously, surveying the room around him, but not too much-- he didn’t want to come off like he was planning a raid on the place or anything.

In front of him stood two NOOSE guards and Jason, arms behind his back and that stupid perfect smirk present on his tan face. He was no longer in a uniform like before, but rather a button down shirt and dress pants.

“Good of you to join me, Mr. de Santa,” he said cordially.

“What the hell’s this about?” Michael asked coldly, holding out his arms expectantly.

“It’s about 696.”

Michael’s stomach dropped. “Of course it is. Why else would it be you callin’ me? What about Wave?”

Jason’s smile grew slightly. “We have no use for her anymore,” he replied. “We were supposed to kill her, Mr. de Santa, due to her degenerative disease, but we let her live long enough to come to discover that it was all a false alarm.”

Michael didn’t seem to have heard him, tilting his head to one side in disbelief.

“What was that now?

“She’s not dangerous. All it took was one session of IV based chemotherapy to eliminate most the degenerative cells in her system, but we still have her on some oral medication to flush out the remaining bad cells. Come to find out, it was never even contagious like we thought in the first place. It’s completely hereditary, as all of the test subject’s genes connect back to a single father host, a certain…”

Jason looked down at his records, squinting at the small print. “... Thomas Vercetti, it looks like. But I digress. The point is that Wave is safe. We were still going to kill her, but someone higher up insisted we give her back.”

Michael could still barely believe his ears, but he had to ask. “And who the hell would that be?”

From behind them, the elevator opened up again. Michael turned around, coming face-to face with none other than Dave Norton.

“Jesus,” Michael exclaimed, “Davie?”

“Don’t get too hung up about it,” Dave implored him, but there was a smile in there somewhere. He shook Michael’s hand as he continued “I talked with the kid, got her story, and when I heard your name, I knew I had to intervene. I thought I told you to stay out of trouble, hmm?”

“It ain’t my fault,” Michael insisted. “It was--”

“Trevor,” they both said simultaneously. Dave just sighed and shook his head. “Damn Trevor. Can’t keep his nose in his own shit for once.”

“Did you really expect anything less?”

“Can’t say that I was.” Dave shook his head, pointing down the hall. “She’s that way. The paperwork’s already been done. She’s Trevor’s now.”

Michael’s stomach dropped again. Those had been the three words he’d never hoped to hear in his life, and now, it was like a nightmare come true. “Trevor’s?”

“Did I stutter, Michael?” Dave looked slightly annoyed

The criminal shook his head violently, waving his arms in front of him. “Dave, bad move. She can’t go back to him. He’ll--”

“I’m well aware of what Trevor’s capable of doing to her,” Dave said to Michael. “Wave told me everything. I know every last detail about their relationship. But listen to me-- it’s either she goes with him, or she lives out the rest of her life here, or she goes to a military camp, because whether we like it or not, she’s still volatile. Not only are we trying to keep as few people finding out about this as possible, but from what I’ve heard, Trevor’s the only one that can keep her in line. I know he still gets in trouble, and I know he still kills and beats and lies, but it’s nowhere near the scale she’s capable of if left to her own devices. He keeps her in line with what he does, as manipulative and horrible and God-awful as he is. It’s not the happiest ending, but it’s the best one we can come up with for now. When she turns eighteen, she can go do what she wants, plow down a street of pedestrians, start a coup, run to the fucking wilderness, I don’t care, but for now, she’s now a Philips. Is that understood?”

Michael shook with poorly hidden rage. “He’s gonna kill her, Dave.”

Dave looked apologetic. “It’s the only chance at freedom she gets. It’s that, or nothing. You make the call.”

Dave stepped back, hitting the elevator button without looking behind him, backing into the compartment quietly.

“Jason will show you where she is. Let her know what her alternatives are.”

The metal doors shut behind him. Michael looked down at his feet, knowing full well what choice Wave was going to make, and he felt sick and helpless.

* * *

 

His phone was ringing far too much. He only answered to Ron and Wade these days. But Michael? He was afraid of what he'd want to talk about. Trevor sat and watched the device ring multiple times-- six, to be exact. He made no move to pick it up, watching it ring over and over again. He lay on his stomach on the bed, some of the burns on his back still paining him, after all this time-- a sacrifice that had amounted to nothing, now scarring him forever. Though, when he thought about it, he knew it could be worse. His entire body could be charred, and he could have been a corpse as a result of that.

On the seventh ring, Trevor slammed his hand down on the phone, muttering angrily to himself, silencing the device. He stood slowly, making his way to the kitchen. As he was passing the front door, he heard an insistent knocking, and a voice he’d been hoping wouldn’t find him here.

“Trevor!” Michael banged on the door a couple more times. “I know you’re fucking here, your shitty truck’s parked outside. Open the fucking door, we gotta talk.”

Trevor rolled his eyes, pouring himself a cup of cold coffee, and he stared at the clock. It was just after six. “Fuck off.”

“Trevor, listen to me, it’s fucking important.”

“I’m not coming out,” he shouted around his cup. “Text me.”

There was unintelligible cursing from behind the door, before things went quiet. Trevor titled his head to one side, confused that his command had actually worked. But that meant… he set down his cup, walking back to the bedroom and picking up his phone. Sure enough, there was a new text from Michael. He opened the phone, staring down at the message with narrowed, confused eyes.

“ _ It’s about Wave _ .”

A few seconds later, Michael looked up from his phone as the door swung open, and Trevor stood there, shirtless, the “FUCK COPS” tattoo splayed across his torso a very clear reminder of just who Michael was dealing with. The coffee cup in his hand was held to his mouth, and he took a long sip.

“Well?” Trevor said when Michael said nothing. “What about Wave?”

Michael looked around. “Can I… come in?”

“Why the fuck do you need to come in?” Trevor barked. “Just fucking talk to me.”

Michael clenched his fists. He wanted to say to him, “Nevermind.” He wanted to get back in his car, go back to Jason, and say, “I can’t do it. I can’t sell her soul like that.” But Wave would never forgive him for it. She would never see any of them again, she would spend the rest of her life in an FIB prison cell, or worse, across the American border somewhere, doing exactly what she was meant to do-- fight the enemy, whoever that may be that particular year.

“Fine. Look, T, I tried to fucking tell them it was a bad idea. You know how I feel about the two of you livin’ in the same fucking state, fuck, the same country. But-- Jesus Christ… She’s alive, T.”

Trevor dropped his cup, coffee splattering all over the tile floor and the mug shattering into fragments. Her name didn’t even need to be said. He knew.

“Fuck you,” he trembled.

“I am not fucking with you, Trevor,” Michael said loudly. “She’s fine. She’s going to be okay, and they want to give her back to you. I went and saw her, because you were too fucking stubborn to answer your phone.”

“Prove it.”

Michael rolled his eyes, yanking his phone out of his pocket and going into his saved files. He pulled up a video, placing the device into Trevor’s hands. The Canadian had to bring his hand up to his mouth to hide his shout of shock and surprise.

“ _ Oh my fucking God, it is you _ ,” Michael’s mechanical voice said to her.

But it wasn’t her.

She was pale-- paler than she normally was, and small and frail. Her lips were nearly the same shade of ghostly white as her skin. Her hair had grown out a little, and they had re-dyed it all to the same shade of black as her roots. But her eyes were the same. They were still that vivid, sapphire blue that he loved to stare into. And when he saw her smile, he knew that despite this ghost of who she used to be, it was still her.

It was still Waverly.

“ _ Hey there _ ,” she said, and her voice was hoarse. “ _ They couldn’t get Trevor, huh _ ?”

“ _ Nah. He’s kind of shut down since you left. _ ”

“ _ I told him not to do that _ .”

The static sigh was loud and close to the camera.

“ _ I know, I know, but it’s fucking Trevor. You know how it is _ .”

Trevor pointed down at the screen with wide amber eyes and shaking hands.

“That’s really fucking her,” he whispered. “Where is she?”

“They want to make the exchange at the Chiliad Mountain State Park--”

No sooner had he spoken the words, Trevor was dragging him out by the collar of his shirt to the truck, despite Michael’s protests and insistences that Trevor put on a Goddamn shirt.

* * *

 

The sky was red when they arrived to the cliff next to the sea. Trevor came to a halt so quickly, Michael nearly ended up rear-ending him in his own car. Franklin was already there, sitting on the hood of his white Buffalo-S, watching the waves crash against the rocks far below.

“Where the fuck are they?” Trevor barked to Franklin, pacing frantically.

Michael put his hand on his shoulder. “On their way, cool it. They’re coming. They’ll get here.”

“It better be fucking quick. Two months I suffered without her, for no good cause.”

“They thought she was dangerous, T.”

Trevor was going to scream something at Michael, but Franklin held out his arms between them, once again having to play peacemaker. “Jesus, just be happy she comin’ back to us. The chances of somethin’ like this ever happening are real fuckin’ small. This is our only second chance. This ain’t gonna happen ever again. Trevor, be fuckin’ gracious to them. They can change their minds in a heartbeat if they damn fuckin’ please. Michael, be supportive for today. I know this ain’t the best outcome, but it fuckin’ for sure ain’t the worst.”

“It’s a mistake, Franklin,” Michael argued, but Franklin just held up his hands, shaking his head.

“I ain’t finna hear that shit today. Suck it the fuck up. This is about her and what she wants, not us and what we want for her. Suck it up.”

Michael ran his hands through his hair. He shook his head, then whirled around, grabbing Trevor by his shoulders and forcing him to look at him.

“You fuck this up even once,” he warned, “and I will hunt you down. You hurt her like you did Thanksgiving, and I will fucking put a bullet through your Goddamn eye socket. I am not fucking around.”

They stared at each other for a long time, a long period of silence, before Michael shook him.

“Do you understand, Trevor?”

“Yeah. I hear you.”

Michael slowly relaxed, and let Trevor go. Shortly afterwards, three black FIB vans began to make their way down the dirt path. They stood to the side, allowing them room to come down. The vans came to a stop across the way. From the center van, Jason exited, not as armed to the teeth as the last time all three of them had seen him. From the two vans to either side, armed agents came out, but they weren’t on guard like the last time. Trevor walked towards the man while Michael and Franklin kept their distance.

They met at the center of the dirt circle. Jason looked Trevor up and down, as if silently evaluating him. He didn’t seem impressed with what he was seeing.

“Were it my choice,” Jason assured him, “we wouldn’t be standing here making this exchange.”

Trevor snarled. “Oh, I’m sure. But we all know I’m the only one that can make her listen.”

“And why that is,” Jason replied, “I will never understand. Why she chose you, of all people in this world, I will never be able to even begin to comprehend. So congratulations, Trevor Philips. You’re now, according to the state, a legal guardian. Best of luck to you. And try not to rough her up too much, if you can help it.”

He said nothing more to Trevor, turning around and returning to the center van. He walked to the back doors, letting the both of them swing open. He gestured inside, and they could barely hear him say, “Come on. Ride’s over. You’re free.”

There was a seemingly eternal period of time where nothing happened. Then, at last, two familiar shoes planted themselves on the ground-- white and blue. Trevor stepped cautiously forward, wondering if he should believe his eyes or not. A hand snaked around the door, and one of the shoes moved forward. A head of short, black hair and sapphire eyes peered around the door, and then she allowed her whole self to be seen.

Waverley stepped weekly forward, stumbling slightly, but holding up well. She looked thin like a skeleton, but seemed plenty healthy otherwise. All of her broken bones were healed, but she still wheezed occasionally from sore ribs. She grinned at Trevor's astonished stare, eyes glistening and moist.

He turned to his comrades to affirm the sight before him, pointing like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

While Franklin just smiled with his arms folded, Michael rolled his eyes, shoving Trevor forwards roughly. “Jesus, would you just fucking go and get this over with?”

He took a few steps backwards, eyes trained on Michael and Franklin, before he turned forwards, and ran to meet Wave, who was already stumbling towards him, sobbing with relief and excitement. He lifted her up, hands grasped tight around her waist as he spun her around, like something out of a stupid romance movie, but this was so much more real and so much more meaningful. Trevor was gentle with her due to her fragility, but expressed his joy perfectly well as he brought her in close to him, dropping to his knees in disbelief. “Oh my girl, Wavey baby, oh God.”

"I love you, Trevor, you fucking piece of shit." Her pale arms clung to him as if it was her last hope to life. “God, I fucking hate you. Oh, fuck me, I love you, fuck…”

For Trevor, sweeter words had never been sung. Not by Jesus, or God, or any angel. Tears flowed down his thankful lips.

“I’m never letting go,” he whispered. “I am never letting go again.”

From across the way, Jason looked up at Michael and Franklin. They exchanged knowing nods of understanding, before the FIB agent entered the van, and the government agency dispersed, three black vans driving away, back the way they came. Once they were out of sight, Michael and Franklin turned to return to their own cars.

“You really mean what you said?” Franklin asked. “That you’ll kill him? That’s your best fucking friend, man.”

“Best friends can be assholes too, Franklin. And despite everything, Trevor’s still dangerous. He’s still a liability. We gotta keep our eyes on him and her, watch out for any sign that something’s up. No matter what his fuckin’ relation is to me, if we gotta end up picking one life over the other, we both know who we gotta chose.”

He put on his sunglasses that he’d placed on his head, staring at the sunset, and shaking his head. “I’m still too fucking old for this shit.”

Franklin shook his head with a small smile, watching as Michael left, tires kicking up dust and dirt as he drove off.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is _The Big One_ for warnings. Physical abuse, blood, graphic violence, torture, marking, possessive nature, branding, scarification.
> 
> One more chapter after this, but it's more of an Epilogue than anything else.

The September wind was hot and harsh, kicking and swirling dust devils into being, which traversed the broken roads, before dying somewhere between the nearest building and broken, sunburnt, homeless addict. Somewhere over the closest hill, one would hear a coyote or two snickering as they plotted their late-night excursions, but should one seek them out, they’d find nothing there. The pressing, dying summer heat would make someone or other bark bitterly at the closest inbred wife, before the wind took hold of all sound again. Sandy Shores was as it had always been.

The wind danced and pranced all around, and Wave raised a tanned hand against it, keeping the desert dust out of her eyes. She clutched the plastic bags tighter in her fist, finally making it into the store where Trevor and Chef worked together to create their product. She slammed the door shut behind her, yanking the purple beanie off of her head with a heavy sigh, and looking around the dimmed, run-down establishment.

Chef looked up from the counter and his phone, standing quickly at the sight of Trevor’s girl. He walked around the counter, taking the bags from her.

“You got the stuff?” he asked. “Trevor’s insistent we blow up that new territorial group that took over the Lost camp. I think they call themselves Saints or something? Some new fad going on, they’re all over the country. I think this is a spin-off group though, not related to the real deal. I think the headquarters are set up in--”

“Yeah yeah, I get it,” Wave cut in, brushing dust out of her short, chin-length black hair. “New shitty gang, loosely organized, one hit should be all it takes to kick them out. I got everything. You should be able to make real good acid bombs out of this shit. I’m glad Trevor’s letting me run this one.”

Chef snickered, leading Wave up the stairs behind the counter to their lab. “Well, you know, you’re co-CEO of Trevor Philips Enterprises now, kid. You gotta earn that place, and this is your initiation.”

As they headed up, Ron darted past them down the stairs, stopping to say hello briefly, but Wave grabbed him by the shoulder. “Whoa whoa, hey, where you off to in such a hurry?”

“Well, um, you know,” he stuttered nervously (good old Nervous Ron, as Trevor liked to call him), “since T’s on a bombing run, I’ve got to get back to the trailer-- er, I mean, house… and feed Santa. I know you’re busy, so I’ll take care of it.”

At the mention of her Great Dane puppy, Waverly smiled. Trevor had gone out and gotten the little guy shortly after being reunited with her back in late June, but he was already getting to be massive. It was clear he was going to get up to four feet, at the very least. On the lot where Trevor’s trailer had once been now stood a small blue house, built with lightning speed so that they could move back to Sandy Shores as soon as was humanly possible. They were still low on furniture, but they had the basics needed to live comfortably. They even had a basement now, which was where they stored their weapons and ammunition, instead of in random cupboards around the house. It wasn’t a bad place to be, in comparison to the trailer they used to wallow in. Wave did her best to keep it clean, but Trevor was a pig-- it was hard to keep up with him.

“Well,” she said at length, “make sure to toss the tennis ball a couple times and he probably won’t bite at your shin. Probably.”

“Right.” Ron smiled, stepping down the stairs. He looked up at her. “We still up for that barbecue tonight?”

Wave held out her arms. “As far as I know. Chef and I gotta plot out this attack, but I should be back around four. Have the steaks ready by 6:30, Trevor should be rested up and ready to go around then. Remember-- he likes it rare. The bloodier, the better.”

“As it is with everything,” Ron snickered, turning around the corner.

Wave hurried up the steps in sets of two, rushing to catch up with chef. On the table, he’d cleared just enough space to lay out a map of the trailer camp by the Alamo Sea. As she came up the stairs, he glanced up, then did a double-take, motioning at the area around her neck. “Lookin’ a little purple there, kid.”

She put a hand up to her trachea as casually as she could-- the bandana she’d had around her neck had fallen loose, revealing the bruises and ligature marks. “Fell asleep with a necklace on.”

“Sure you did,” Chef frowned, knowing full well where she’d gotten that from. “Some thick necklace though. Anyways, from the surveillance Ron and Wade have done, it’s looking like their leader’s hiding out somewhere along the northwestern side of the camp. We should probably put the most bottles there. At night, of course, when they’re all asleep. The rest can go sort of anywhere we think might be a priority space. Once the sun comes up the next day, it’ll cook those things right up, then boom, acid everywhere, hopefully in some of their faces. Anything else you wanna touch up on? You’re sure this is the way you want to go about doing it?”

Wave shook her head, planting both hands on the table. “We know these Saints assholes are fiercely loyal to each other. We just want to scare them, not kill them. You kill one of these guys, they all come after you. A non-focused attack where anyone is a target will send the message better than if we go on a slaughter rampage. We just want them to know that Trevor Philips Industries was here first, and that we’re not going to tolerate their bullshit. The only weapons and crack that go through here are through us. If they don’t get it then,  _ then  _ we’ll go in with guns blazing.”

Chef looked up from the map and smiled. “I could not agree more.” He looked around the room. “You turned seventeen, what, August?”

“August fourth,” she confirmed, “why?”

“I had something for you…” Chef ran into the adjacent room, cursing under his breath, before running back with a small box. “It’s not much, but it fits your aesthetic.”

“Didn’t know I had an aesthetic,” Wave laughed, shaking the box lightly before opening it. It wasn’t much at all, but the sentiment was sweet-- a necklace of bullets with a letter carved into each one to spell out her name. The “E” was crooked and not well done, the “Y” doing even worse, but one could make out her name well enough. “Sweet, thanks, Chef.”

He took the chain necklace from her, slipping it over her head and ruffling her head. “People like you are the exact reason I didn’t get hitched or have kids, but fuck, you’re alright most of the time. It’s the rage that turns me off to familial life.”

“Blah blah, whatever,” she laughed. “I’m robbing the fridge before I fuck out of here.”

“Probably just more human flesh, but suit yourself.”

She rounded the corner after giving Chef a parting wave, yanking open the refrigerator door and yanking out an unopened beer for her personal consumption. Considering what was usually in the fridge, that was a diamond in the rough. She peeled off the cap with her teeth, spitting out in some random direction, and taking a long, drawn out swig, leaning back against the fridge door.

When she was certain no one was looking, she ran her hands over her abused throat, skin tingling where hot fingers traced over her bruised neck. She wondered if Trevor’s legs were bruised from where she’d kicked at him, trying to get away. She wondered if he remembered the hatred in her eyes as she spat at him, refusing to apologize. She wondered if he remembered what they were fighting about in the first place. She didn’t.

She wondered if he even remembered attacking her at all.

It was nothing. She shook her head. Probably something stupid, like forgetting to close a window, or not locking up the weapons case in the basement. Besides, things weren’t as bad as they used to be. Trevor was still sweet to her. He still took care of her. Christ, he’d even started cooking normal food every other night. Improvements had been made between them. They’d never be perfect, but things were better now. That’s what she continued to tell herself.

Wave smiled, pulling out her cell phone and staring down at her screen saver. She had her arm around Trevor, yanking him in for an exaggeratedly happy selfie. Her smile was notably wider than his, but he’d taken the time to smile alongside her. That was the picture she showed off when asked about who her parents were. That was the picture where she knew that, despite their questionable appearance, and the foot just visible on the right side of the screen of the dead body they’d just shot, she could proudly point at the man on her right and say, “That’s him.”

As she stared at it, her phone suddenly rang loudly, startling her and nearly causing her to drop her beer. It was Michael. Wave cursed, before regaining her composure and answering the call.

“Mikey,” she said warmly, “hey, what’s up?”

“Just checking in,” the man said, sounding a little out of breath. “Fuck, I just got finished running across the fucking studio to get one of the cast set up. Directing is hard shit sometimes, kid.”

“Oh, you’re doing another movie?” she asked. “What’s this one about?”

Michael didn’t sound impressed. “Bah, more of the same, I just picked it up because it’s not too bad, it’s got a strong female lead, a long, boring story, and I know it’ll rake in a shitton of cash. It’s nothing new or innovational, but it’ll be good for the box office. But I didn’t call to talk about me. I ain’t seen you in two fuckin’ weeks. How’s T treatin’ you? Anything new?”

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

“We’re still doing good,” she told him. She rubbed at her neck again, making a mental note to tighten the bandana around her neck on her walk back to the trailer. “Santa’s well fed, we’re teaching him to heel, and the potty training’s almost finished.”

“I still can’t believe you named a fucking dog after me.” Michael balked at the mention of the Great Dane puppy.

“Hey,” she snapped, “you fuckin’ deserved it, alright? You saved my life, Michael. I’d either be dead or in a fucking Fed cell if you hadn’t intervened.”

“I know, I know,” he sighed. “And Trevor ain’t proven that it was a mistake yet, so I guess we’re alright for now. You sure you’re okay?”

“I promise, Michael. And, shit, even if I wasn’t, what would we do about it?”

“Kid, you know I care about you, and you know I care about Trevor. But if it boils down to picking between the two of you, I’ll fight Trevor to the death to ensure your safety. He’s not good for you. Now matter how many times I say that, it won’t change it. You’ve got to understand that. Trevor’s dangerous, and he’ll do anything to keep you from leaving him, whether you like it or not. I got to make sure he doesn’t hurt you too badly, because nothing ever changes, kid.”

“I appreciate that, Michael.” Wave walked out onto the balcony, leaning over the railing and swirling her beer around, the sloshing sound helping her to think. “I know you only want what’s best. For me, for you, for everyone. You’re a good guy. But you’ve also got to understand that, no matter what Trevor throws at me, I’m going to come back fighting. No matter how hard he throws me down, I’ll bounce back twice as hard. He hasn’t broken me yet. I learned my lesson. I love him, and nothing will change that, but I won’t be as blind as I was before. I won’t piss him off to the point that he’s going to kill me again, but I won’t let him push me down. We’re two halves to the same coin. At this point, it’s just a race to see which lands face-down.”

Michael sighed into the phone, sounding resigned.

“Just remember, my house is always open to you. You know where the spare key is.”

“Around the back in the bushes behind the pool in the fake rock.” She nodded like it was obvious. “I know.”

“Okay.”

There was a pause in their conversation.

“Franklin says hi.”

“Well, maybe I’ll give him a call if I have the time.”

“You’re old before your time, you know that, kid? Working full time, cooking and cleaning-- you should be in school, sulking in your room and texting all your friends how much you hate your life and your family.”

“I don’t hate Trevor, Michael. I can’t hate him.”

“No,” Michael said, “you fucking can. You just don’t want to. There’s nothing wrong with hating the people that gave you everything if they’re fucking assholes. It’s a valid way to feel. But you won’t do that to him, will you?”

Wave looked off into the distance somewhere.

“Probably not. I just can’t bring myself to do it. Not after everything we did together.”

Michael was quiet. “And that’s valid, too. Call me, okay?”

“Will do. Good luck, Mikey.”

“... here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”

The line went quiet. She didn’t move for a long time.

* * *

 

Desert nights were cool and quiet. She would stare out her bedroom window at the few cars that would pass by at this late hour, making up stories in her mind about who they were and where they were going. The twin-sized bed, with its dark purple sheets, was the first time she could ever remember having her own place to sleep that wasn’t portable or on the floor. Since it was a corner room, she had two windows-- one right by her bed, at the right side of the room, and another to the north, right next to the garage. Her room was the most furnished of all for the time being. Wooden floorboards, soft purple walls, dark blue curtains, even a desk and computer to call her own. The dresser was filled with new clothes, hand-picked yet again by Michael and Tracey, and Amanda had insisted Wave be given a vanity.

On her nightstand, a lamp, a clock, and an Impotent Rage figurine-- new, pristine. Different from the one that had brought them together earlier in their relationship. That one was solely Trevor’s. A beanbag. A small bookshelf. A closet. Her own bathroom. It was the most she had ever had to her own name. It still overwhelmed her to think about, that she had her own corner of the earth to call her own, as small as it may have been.

She jumped at the sound of the front door slamming open. Trevor was back. After the barbecue, he’d gone out again to make some purchases for the business, and interview an individual interested in working for him.

Waverly stood up from her bed, walking out into the hallway, and into the living room. She leaned against the wall as Trevor walked to the kitchen a ways away, going immediately to the sink and pouring himself a cup of water.

“Well?” she asked.

He was just about to take a sip when she asked that, and he lowered his cup slowly, facing her and staring at her in the darkness.

“Well what?”

She shrugged. “The interview?”

He gave a knowing nod. “Ah. It was a fake-out. Asked too many questions, he was either a cop or a rival. I didn’t let him live long enough to find out.” Trevor took a long, thoughtful sip of his drink. He was quieter than usual.

“Okay,” she said. “So what’s the plan for tonight? Where do you want me?”

He shrugged. “With me, in your bed, on the couch, on the roof. Wherever. Sleep where you want.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”

“Mmhmm.”

That was slightly odd. Most often, Trevor dictated where she slept for the night based on what he wanted. For him to not give her specific instructions was strange. She stayed there against the wall, and he finished his drink of water, the house dark and quiet.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” he said at length.

“About?”

Trevor set his cup down. His movements were slow and calculated, almost stilted. He reached for something at his hip, and it glinted in the light from streetlamps outside. Wave took a step back.

_ That was a sharp knife _ .

“About… us.” Trevor licked at his upper lip, that stupid habit of his carrying more meaning to it than times in the past. “About our history. What we’ve been through. What we’ve endured together. You belong to me, you know. After all of that, you’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”

Wave looked behind her, towards her room. Something in the air wasn’t right. “That’s not true, Trevor.”

“Even the FIB said so. They gave you to me. You remember that, don’t you?”

“They said you were my dad. That doesn’t mean I belong to you.”

“But you do.” Trevor approached her, and there was something primal in the way he looked at her. She took a step back again, and he followed with two.

“Put the knife down, Trevor,” she urged.

“Listen to me,” he whispered, and he continued to approach her, looming dark and overpowering. “You belong to me. You’re  _ my  _ girl. You’re property of Trevor Philips. You’re my baby girl.”

He was raising his arm with the knife in his hand.

“Stay the  _ fuck  _ back, Trevor.”

He stopped, just for a moment, then grew louder.

“Do you know,” he said slowly, and she realized quite suddenly that she had never been as afraid of him as she was in this exact moment, “what farmers do to make sure that others know which cattle belong to which farmer in free-range territory?”

Waverly turned around, running to her room. Trevor darted after her, quickly closing the distance. Before she could shut the door, he burst inside. The force of it knocked her into her nightstand, head colliding with the corner noisily. The Impotent Rage figurine toppled, and the elbow hit the radio button on her clock, the selected station crackling to life just as he pinned her down to the ground.

 

“ _ Ooh, Wow, Ooh,  
_ _ I feel bad, and I've felt worse,  
_ _ I'm a creep, yeah, I'm a jerk.  
_ _ Come on.   
_ __ Touch me, I’m sick. ”

 

“Get the fuck off me!” She punched him in the nose with her free hand, stumbling to her feet, but he grabbed her again, pulling her back. Trevor flipped her over, on to her stomach so her back was to him, and she continued to thrash under him. He had to pin her arms above her head, and as he ripped his knife through the fabric of both her shirt and her bra, he leaned down to whisper in the shell of her ear:

“When somebody owns something, and wants to make certain that others know that, they…  _ label  _ them. They  _ brand  _ them. I’ve noticed, Wavey baby, that there’s been some…  _ confusion _ , about that, with you, in the past.”

She gasped, and whimpered, clawing at the floor uselessly, helplessly. She bucked beneath him, but couldn’t get enough leverage to get him off of her.

“Trevor, what the fuck!? Stop!”

 

“ _ Wow,  
_ _ I won't live long, and I'm full of rot,  
_ _ Gonna give you - girl - everything I got.  
_ _ Touch me, I'm sick, yeah,  
_ __ Touch me, I'm sick. ”

 

The cool metal pressed in to her left shoulder blade, and she flinched, thrashing under him and screaming at the top of her lungs, trying to get away, but she had no leverage. He was sitting on top of her thighs, almost on her ass, and he was trailing the weapon across her skin, almost teasingly.

“Time to clear up the confusion.”

“Fuck you!” she screamed, and it echoed down the halls with the sheer, shrill sound of it. Trevor didn’t seem to hear it, raising the knife up, before bringing it down, digging it enough into her skin to leave a gash deep enough to scar wide and clear. Her entire body convulsed as the pain shot through her, and she screamed louder than before, loud enough that she was sure Ron would hear it from his trailer. But he wouldn’t do a damn thing about it. He never did, and he wouldn’t now.

 

“ _ Come on baby, now come with me,  
_ _ If you don't come,  
_ _ If you don't come,  
_ _ If you don't come,  
_ __ You'll die alone. ”

 

The blood was running down the left side of her back in pools, and there was nothing to muffle her agonized wailing and shrieking. She was jerking violently against him, but even then, his knife was steady in its work, carving deliberate lines into the skin of her left shoulder blade. Wherever his knife went, she bled deep, and burned sharp and acrid.

“Fuck you!” she screamed loud enough that it could have echoed over the Alamo Sea, had they not been behind closed doors. Her blood seeped onto and into the floorboards. “Fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck! Fuck!” She tensed, and shook, and Trevor took one hand, placing it in the middle of her shoulder blades, and pressing down to keep her still.

“Stop  _ fucking moving, _ ” he said as he gnashed his teeth together. “This should have been done a long fucking time ago. This is what’s going to bind us together.”

She cried out as the knife continued to carve into her. “ _ Drink cyanide, you psychopath! _ ”

 

“ _ Wow,  
_ _ Ooh.  
_ _ I'm diseased, I don't mind,  
_ **_I'll make you love me 'till the day you die_ ** __. ”

 

He made agonizingly slow work of her back, making certain to take his time so that the lines were just the way he wanted them. There was no emotion in his face, just a ghostly concentration of a man who didn’t see the gravity of the situation, of the gravity of what he was doing to someone considered so close, so trusting of him. By the time he’d finished, her tears stained the floor beneath her, blood just thick enough to ripple around her left side as she shook and sobbed, small tremors being all that was left of her struggle. He tossed the knife to the floor, and it skittered away, leaving a trail of blood where its blade came in contact with the ground.

“Beautiful,” Trevor purred, and his voice was low, dark, and dangerous, violent in the quiet. There was a flash of light, and then a phone was thrust in Wave’s face, her head held up by her hair. Her red, puffy eyes widened as she beheld the damage he had inflicted on her. She should have been expecting it, but seeing it before her eyes was so surreal and awful, that her head spun and she felt physically ill.

 

“ _ Come on,  
_ _ Touch me, I'm sick,  
_ _ Ah,  
_ __ Fuck me, I'm sick. ”

 

“What the fuck did you do to me?” She shook, sick to her stomach and cold from the blood she had lost, but he was already pressing the tatters of her ruined shirt into the wound to stop the flow.

“I marked you as mine.” He said it as if commenting on the stars. He stood up from her, waltzing into her bathroom with a grin plastered on his features. “Stay there. I’ll fix you up just right, Wavey baby. Gotta make sure the _ paint _ sets  _ just  _ right.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” she seethed, shaking as she tried to get herself off of the ground.

“I’d like to see you try. We both know you won’t do it.”

She knew there was truth to his words. She fell back down, head resting on her arms as she bled rivulets of blood. She lay there, in her own life substance, cooling and sticking to her skin. The song she recognized as  _ Touch Me, I’m Sick  _ by Mudhoney ingrained itself into her brain as the gravity of the situation crashed down on her in full force, and she openly wept, thinking of the initials, “T P”, ingrained into her skin forever.

And then, in a fit of dissociation, she thought to what Michael had said to her just earlier that day.

“ _ I got to make sure he doesn’t hurt you too badly, because nothing ever changes, kid. _ ”

 

“ _ Come on baby, now come with me,  
_ _ If you don't come,  
_ _ If you don't come,  
_ _ If you don't come,  
_ __ You'll die alone. ”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter warnings. This is it.

“I hate you.”

Trevor grunted to her, knocking back another swig of beer. He scanned the horizon, in search of something to focus on, maybe throw his bottle at if it made him angry enough. But there was nothing. It was a still, quiet, cool night. There was just him, and her, and the sea.

She couldn’t bring herself to discuss what he had done to her not even a week ago. Wave sat on the roof by his side, laying on her side, because she couldn’t lay on her back. It stung too badly, and she would keep bleeding. It felt as if her left shoulder blade was crawling with fire ants, but there was nothing she could do to quell the pain, physically or mentally.

“It’s not like you can see it,” he pointed out casually. “I put it on your back for a reason, you know. You know it’s there, but you don’t see it. Like a bad tattoo. You only have to discuss it if someone points it out.”

She turned away from him. Trevor continued to speak.

“I wouldn’t have had to do it if people would just get it through their heads that you’re my kid.”

“Other parents don’t brand their kids.”

“Other parents don’t care about you as much as I do.”

“Other parents aren’t as batshit insane as you are.”

He shrugged, making an “eh” sound, coming up with no counter-argument. “I saved you,” he said to her. “But I’ll point out where my losses lie-- I’m no saint, either. But I’m as good as you’re ever gonna get, sweetheart.”

Wave passionately hated that pet name. He knew it, too. He used it when pointing out how helpless she was, how much she depended on him. She knew she could go to Michael, tell him everything, then stand by and watch as he went apeshit and laid down the law on Trevor, killing him only God knows how, but then what would happen? Would the FIB come back for her? Would Michael take her in as one of his own? Would foster care come for her? She didn’t want to think about the alternatives. She just wanted to be with Trevor. Despite everything, she just wanted to be loved. No one could love someone like her except for someone as insane as Trevor. Especially not now. Not with his name carved into her shoulder blade for the rest of her life.

Right now, Trevor was her only option. And he damn well knew it, too.

He set down his bottle, and it tilted on its side before rolling off the edge of the roof. He tried to catch it, just barely missing it, and he swore under his breath as it brushed its fingers on the way down to the ground. Luckily, it landed in the dirt and not on the concrete, and miraculously didn’t shatter. Santa began barking at it from his chain, walking over to sniff curiously at the dropped bottle, before growing bored, and returning to his kennel a few feet away. After briefly lamenting the loss, Trevor reached over for his guitar.

“Wanna go?” he asked her, and strummed out a minor E key. She knew instantly what song he wanted to duet. Wave stared past him, towards the Alamo Sea, and across to Mt. Chiliad.

“Sure,” she replied dejectedly, and he played it out as she sang along. It was one she knew very well. The first time she’d heard it, years ago, she didn’t quite understand the meaning of it. It wasn’t like other love songs she’d heard in her life. It was sad, but it wasn’t one of those stupid breakup songs. Despite seeming to hate the guy, this man who was singing stayed with him. She didn’t understand why.

She knew now.

 

“ _ Every man I fall for  
_ _ Drinks his coffee black.  
_ _ ‘Love’ and ‘Hate’ are tattooed on his knuckles, and  
_ __ My name is on his back.

_ Every man I fall for  
_ _ Works the graveyard shift.  
_ _ He kisses me softly to wake me up,  
_ __ Then takes my place in bed. ”

 

The strings echoed over the empty, lonely, barren sands of the Grand Senora Desert, washing over the hills into the toxic Alamo Sea not fifty feet away from them. Wave had to close her eyes to keep the tears from flowing down her face. Trevor would either kick her ass or hold her close to his chest and try to soothe them away. She wasn’t sure what she wanted. She howled her confliction in the form of their music up to the waning moon above them.

 

“ _ And I fall.  
_ _ I leave with one concern;  
_ _ It's the law of diminishing returns,  
_ __ It's the law of diminishing returns. ”

 

Trevor stared at her for a long time. He could feel the emotion in those words of hers. He could feel the pain, and the suffering, but he could feel, deep down, the love in it, too. She didn’t know what she wanted, and he took advantage of it, keeping her on that rope and close to him.

He could not be without her. He refused. He wouldn’t let her go ever again, because she was his girl. She was the one person in his life he knew that he could rely on, regardless of the circumstances. Without her, he was alone.

 

“ _ Every man I fall for keeps his anger on  
_ _ A string and holds it tight.  
_ _ When other man walk by, blinking their eyes at me,  
_ __ He always pick a fight.  


_ I go walk alone down Ocean Boulevard,  
_ _ Peaking your windows.  
_ _ Tired housewives nagging at their husbands, but  
_ __ Is this the life you chose? ”

 

Trevor Philips gave an unsatisfactory huff as he watched the sunset from the roof of his home, next to his daughter. His fingers danced over the steel strings of the acoustic instrument in his hands, dexterous and learned after a year’s worth of practice. He looked up at the sky, deep blue, like an untouched lake, and found he enjoyed these hues much better than those south of here, in Los Santos, where everything was warm, and bright. There, everything seemed fabricated. False.

But then again, Trevor paid no mind to such things. He was a man of action, violence, and no thought. He wanted  _ everything  _ he could get his hands on. And if he didn't have it, he'd go get it, no matter the cost. Proof of that sat right next to him. Proof of that was staring him down with flashing blue eyes, angry and in love and helpless and hopeless.

 

“ _ And I fall.  
_ _ I leave with one concern;  
_ _ It's the law of diminishing returns.  
_ _ And I fall.  
_ _ I leave with one concern;  
_ __ It's the law of diminishing returns. ”

 

Trevor could barely hear her voice over the volume of the guitar for a moment there, but as the volume came back down, he saw the cold way she looked at him. He remembered the first time he had seen that look, over a year ago, long, flowing black hair brushing past him as she stood above a small corpse, suitcase of money in hand. It was a look not of death, but of evaluation. A look of judgement.

The longer she stared, the more her eyes softened, and a lone, single tear trailed down her right cheek, getting caught on that lip scar, before spreading over her pink lips, and she looked away from him.

When the scars on her back would heal months and months later, he would trace delicate fingers over the letters that made up the beginnings of his first and last name as she would sit on the bed in front of him, every night, in an undershirt he would pick out especially so he could see those scars, and she would let him trace them. When Michael would see them, even farther after that, when inviting her to a pool party at his house, he would spit and rage, question her, “ _ Why, why, why the fuck didn’t you tell me? _ ”, keep her from going back for a week, before Trevor threatened to kill half the population of Los Santos and Wave would have to argue with Michael to let her go. He would ask her if she wanted him dead. She would tell him no.

At the end of it all, she wouldn’t leave him. She would stay right where she was, living in Trevor’s oppressive shadow with a forced grin and hidden bruises. Because he was all she had. When she had nothing left, he picked her up from her own ashes, even when she wanted to go down and burn, and he brought her back. Then, she was lost in the world where she belonged, and he kept her there with a slew of scars and precisely timed lies.

 

“ _ Every man I fall for  
_ _ Nearly every man  
_ _ Every man I fall for  
_ __ Nearly every man. ”


End file.
